


John Howe

by rudolphsb9



Series: The Once And Future Howe [1]
Category: Hitman: Agent 47 (2015), Legends (2014), National Treasure (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, I gave Ian a cousin, It's Jackie, M/M, Multi, established Ian/Shaw, hints of John/Kat, hints of Kat/Martin, periodic cheesy chapter titles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 101
Words: 101,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudolphsb9/pseuds/rudolphsb9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Odum is a fugitive, framed by a corrupt company for a brutal assassination, and before long has found himself on a collision course with his past and his future, his true identity and what's got to be done about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude: 2015: A Man In A Glass House Gives An Assignment

Peter Sadusky never much cared for glass walls, and had a bit of a time understanding why others seemed to covet them so much. Often he simply shrugged off such inclinations with a ‘To each their own’ and carried on about his day, but there were times when the notion simply couldn’t be avoided. Today was one of those days. He’d stopped for a cup of water at one of the water coolers on the way and kept his best professional face, pushing his personal opinions to a point beyond detection by others, and walked up to what was sometimes colloquially known as “The Fishbowl.” The lettering ‘Dir. Spiller’ was fresh and crisp, and Sadusky opened the door and stepped inside, allowing it to close behind him. The director looked up at him. “Agent Sadusky,” he said.

“Director,” Sadusky replied with a slight nod.

“Have a seat.” Sadusky walked up to one of the chairs in front of Spiller’s cluttered desk and sat down, setting his cup on the edge.

“You’re looking well, all things considered.”

“Thank you.”

“So, what can I do for you?” Sadusky asked, leaning back in the chair.

Spiller leaned forward, weaving his fingers together on his desk. “You might’ve heard that we have a little…problem.”

“Martin Odum.”

“Correct. We need him found and brought to justice for the assassination of Director Bennett.”

“And I take it you’re asking me because of my record?”

“You take on the high-profile cases and you get the job done. And this is a job that needs doing.”

“Naturally.” Sadusky took a sip of water from his paper cup and added, “So tell me, any leads we can work with?”

Spiller leaned forward a little more and lowered his voice. “What I’m about to tell you is highly classified, but if you don’t know it, it gives Odum the edge and slows your investigation. Odum has several different identities: Lincoln Dittmann, Dante Auerbach, Len Barlow, Sebastian Egan, John Cameron. There could be more, but I don’t know of them. He could create another one, or two, or ten, before you find him. There’s a chance that he’ll use them to evade capture.”

“So we’re really looking for six people, potentially.”

“Potentially. But they all have the benefit,” _if you can call it that,_ Sadusky corrected for him as he reached for a folder on his desk, “of looking alike.” After a moment, Spiller withdrew a sheet of paper and passed it to Sadusky, facing toward him.

“Son of a bitch,” Sadusky muttered, covering his mouth with his hand as he picked up the photograph.

“You recognize him?” Spiller asked.

“This man no, but his brother? Oh, boy.”

Spiller’s eyes widened, and Sadusky knew he had an edge. Spiller relaxed and gave Sadusky a simple instruction: “Find his brother before he does.”


	2. 2015: The Fugitive Catches A Glimpse Of The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is given the first real lead in a long time in his quest for his past.

Martin glanced over his shoulder and swiped a copy of the _Daily Mail_ off an abandoned tabletop before anyone could remember it existed, and took a look at the front page. Mostly he needed to know if the manhunt for him had been made public yet, if his picture had been released to everybody who could possibly help find him, but he was also somewhat curious about why the word “Singapore” seemed to be on the lips of everyone around him, and expected to find at least a few answers there. Instead he was greeted with a curvy, bosomy blonde with a big fake smile and at least three layers of make-up. He threw the paper into the nearest available trash bin in frustration and disgust, let out a heavy sigh, and looked around with his hands on his hips, not really looking at anyone or anything, just for want of something to do with his excess energy.

_That’s the good news,_ he reminded himself wryly. _Even if I shot the Prime Minister it wouldn’t be news for very long in this country._ He glanced up, taking in the crowds passing along the sidewalks, the cars and bikes flowing in both directions in almost equal measure. The coffee shop he’d just passed by seemed to be getting the first of an influx of customers. Most importantly, no one seemed to be looking at him for more than a few milliseconds, just long enough to register his existence and not run into him. _How polite._

He took another deep breath and continued down his path, burying his hands deep in his sweatshirt pockets. He tried not to worry too much, tried to stay relaxed, if only for the good of his health. At the rate paranoia was eating him, if Martin didn’t keep it at bay, his heart would probably kill him. So he took a deep breath, slowed himself down a little, and kept his head down.

Something collided with his left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. A warm, steaming liquid soaked through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and a man staggered away from him half a step. “Oh! I’m…I’m so sorry,” he said, stepping back even further, holding up his free hand in a placating gesture. Then he bent to pick up a briefcase and some papers he’d dropped, and Martin bent down to help him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Martin replied.

“Oh, no, here, let me clean that up.” He reached for his breast pocket, Martin guessed for a handkerchief.

“Oh, no, it’s alright. It’s…it’s just a shirt. I can clean it up later.”

“No, no, I insist,” he said, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out the handkerchief, and it clicked in Martin’s mind.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said, half to himself. “You’re afraid of me…” He shifted his positions and held up his hands in a placating gesture. “OK, Ok,” he said, and he took the handkerchief and started to wipe off the excess liquid. “Can…can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, certainly.”

“Why are you so afraid?”

The man’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”

Martin shook his head. “No, I…I don’t.” The stranger stared at him for a few more moments and then nodded as it sunk in. Martin handed the handkerchief back to the man and started organizing the fallen papers into something hopefully resembling the original order they were in. He handed the papers back to the stranger, who accepted them with a grateful nod and a smile, and asked, “This thing you’re afraid of, should I be afraid, too?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. He’d never hurt you,” he said as they stood.

“He who?”

“Your brother.”

Martin’s world stopped. “I…I have a…”

“Oh, you’re right, you don’t remember,” the man muttered, looking away from Martin for a moment. When Martin glanced over the stranger’s shoulder, he spotted a man staring intently at them, civilian clothes, hands in his pockets, head turned up slightly but only for a moment before his eyes went level with Martin’s. Stubble for hair, two days’ growth of beard. Steely gray eyes. “I really must be going,” the stranger said, grabbing Martin’s attention again as he walked off into the crowd.

Martin stared after him for a long moment, and then looked in the direction of the steely-eyed man who’d been watching the exchange, but the man was gone.

He took up a brisk walk to the next corner and took a right. Of two things he was certain: he had to find this ‘brother’ the man spoke of, but first, he had to find a new place to live.


	3. 2015: Before The Race But After The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47 and Katia plot their next move after escaping Syndicate International headquarters.

Katia stared down this twin of 47’s, while 47’s eyes widened at the sight of him. “Diana says hello,” he said flatly, and he raised both guns, ready to take them out. Katia and 47 raised their guns and fired, burying two bullets deep into the clone’s forehead and eye. The clone fell back against the far wall of the elevator and then slid to the floor, and 47 walked toward the door. “We need to go,” he said.

Katia stepped quickly into the elevator behind him and pressed the button for the first floor. Her hand went to the ‘close doors’ button, and she looked at the fallen Agent in the car with them.

“Who is he?” Katia asked.

“His name is 48,” 47 replied, staring resolutely straight ahead.

“One version better than you.” 47 remained silent. Katia nodded in mute acceptance of…whatever response 47 was trying to convey to her, and she shrugged off her coat, gently draping it over 48’s body. 47 looked first at 48, and then at Katia, but then he nodded, perhaps accepting the gesture as Katia saying goodbye to family members she barely knew.

“Let me know if you get cold,” he said.

“Will do,” Katia replied as she straightened and turned to the elevator door. Past the humming of the elevator’s descent, Katia heard the sirens, and the running feet of professionals trying to maintain order and escort the remaining civilians out of the building while teams raced through, assessing the damage. While the fire department was just clearing the building, it would be very easy to find a back exit to slip out of. But there was just one problem.

If this Diana woman sent 48 after them in the first place, then that he was dead would tip her off, and get more people sent after them. “Here’s how we’re getting out of here,” she said. 47 looked over at her and cocked an eyebrow, but allowed her to continue.

***

The elevator doors opened to a lobby in chaos as panicked office workers were evacuated by emergency responders and tried to contact loved ones and family members to explain what had happened and that they were OK. 47 forced Katia through the elevator doors and into the crowd. Katia, acting her part well, put up the valiant but uncoordinated struggle of a terrified civilian, complete with yelling and screaming at the trembling receptionist in an effort to get help. 47, ever the true Agent, simply squeezed her arms and growled “Quiet!” Katia kept up the struggle, albeit with nary a peep from her vocal cords, and 47 made a show of being more forceful with her in response. By all appearances, he seemed only mildly annoyed with her antics.

He forced her to the front door and leveled a cold glare at the door guards, insurance that he and Katia wouldn’t be chased after. Katia winced and bit back a yelp and a curse as 47 turned a corner, forcing him along with her, and steered her down the sidewalk. Katia continued to act for the cameras and the witnesses until 47 steered her around the corner and up to another red Audi. She allowed 47 to shove her into the passenger seat and slam the door. 47 walked over to the driver’s side and closed the door behind him. “I’m sorry,” he said to her.

“That was brilliant,” Katia replied, shaking out her hands as they tingled with an influx of blood.

“You weren’t a distraction. It was my job to get to you before they could, because if they didn’t kill you they’d turn you into a weapon. Your father and the things he knew, I had to kill him before they could use him. I had to destroy that knowledge.”

Katia blinked and looked up at him as he put the car in gear and drove down the alleyway to another back road. She took a deep breath to try to gather her thoughts, and a profound physical exhaustion set in when she exhaled. “Where’re we going?” she asked after a moment, looking back at him.

“Somewhere safe,” he replied. “There’s an abandoned ICA safe house near the edge of the city. We’re going to stay there for the night.”

“And you’re sure this…Diana…won’t follow us there?”

“Actually no. Once she catches on that 48 is dead, she’ll know we’ve escaped, and after that it’s only a matter of time before she figures out where we’ve gone.”

“So we keep running, then,” she said, slumping back in her seat and looking out the windshield while her hand moved to support her face. She was unable to keep all of her dejection out of her voice, so she knew 47 caught a few notes of it. “For how long?”

“I don’t know, Katia,” 47 said earnestly. Katia cocked her eyebrows for a moment, and then looked out the windshield, feeling utterly crushed by the feeling that she was back at square one: an orphan, on the run from everything that moved, just trying to stay alive. There was only one difference this time around. She had a brother.

“47?”

“Yes?”

Katia opened her mouth and closed it again. “Y-you might want to put your guns up somewhere safe tonight,” she said instead. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” Her eyes drifted to the passenger window, the lights and shapes of Singapore at night flashing by.

“There’s plenty of stuff to take apart at the safe house, I promise.”

She looked at him again, her eyebrows folded together briefly before something in her decided it was probably best to keep her questions to herself after the long day they both had. “Thank you,” she said simply. 47 nodded imperceptibly but said nothing. Katia looked back out the passenger side window as the business district and residential Singapore flew past.


	4. 2007: The Author Meets His First Big Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, you're that guy, the...the treasure hunter guy!" "No, actually the guy you're thinking of is somewhere...over there." "No, you're him, Riley Poole."

They looked up at each other just enough to avoid bumping into each other, but that split second seemed to be enough for her. “Excuse me,” she said, reaching for Riley’s elbow to get his attention. He turned slowly. “Hey, you’re that guy, the…the treasure hunter guy, right?”

“No, actually, the guy you’re thinking of is somewhere over there,” Riley replied, gesturing vaguely to the crowd behind him with his beverage for a moment.

“No,” she insisted, shaking her head. “You’re him, Riley Poole,” she added, pulling a book from her bag and presenting it to him. “I recognize you from your book.” Riley glanced at the cover of the book and then looked up at her again. “Um, will you sign it?”

Riley dropped the bag of souvenirs he was holding and tucked his beverage into his newly-freed elbow. “Okay,” he breathed, breaking into a smile. She glanced down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before looking up at him again. They smiled at each other for a moment, and Riley was somewhat awestruck. This beautiful girl liked his book and recognized him ( _him, Riley Poole_ ) enough to pick him out of a crowd, and she wanted an autograph. Part of him could’ve sworn he was dreaming, but honestly, he didn’t want to wake up.

_Shit, she wanted an autograph,_ Riley realized, and he gasped and started patting himself down for a pen. “It’s okay,” she said. “I have one of those, too.” She pulled a pen from her purse and handed it to him along with her copy of his book, _The Templar Treasure and Other Myths That Are True._

“Oh, thank you,” Riley said as he took the pen and book, and he opened the front cover, flipping to the title page. He uncapped the pen with his teeth and then placed the cap on top of the pen almost instinctively, and he asked, “Okay, so who do I make this out to?”

“Oh, I’m Jackie, Jackie Howe.”

“Huh,” Riley said as he started writing. “That name’s more common than I thought.”

“Yeah, there are a lot of us,” she said with a slight laugh.

“Big family?”

“Yeah. My uncle’s into genealogy and he’s the one who found all of us. He had this big grand scheme of throwing a huge Howe family reunion and it….did _not_ go as planned, oh boy.” She shook her head, and took a deep breath. “Good news is that’s how I met my cousins.”

“As long as they’re cool,” Riley said with a chuckle.

“Oh, they’re cool, alright. I know you met Ian—“ Riley looked up. “Oh shit, you did a mental purge, didn’t you?”

“Yeah!” Riley said, his mouth moving into a half smile and his eyebrows raising slightly. His hand had moved off the paper into something resembling a shrugging position, but not by much.

Jackie withdrew a little bit, bowing her head and moving her hand as if trying to steady her nerves. “Riley,” she said after a moment, “on behalf of my cousin, I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks, that’s…actually really nice to hear,” he said, scratching a patch of hair just above his ear. Jackie smiled softly at him. “Um, I don’t…I don’t mean to rag on your cousin or anything but did you know about…”

“About his criminal exploits?”

“Yeah, those.”

Jackie exhaled. “Riley look. My cousin and I have been tight since I was nine. He was straight up with me the whole time. He said he knows I’ll be a target if anybody wants to get to him, so pretty much since day one he and his crew have been teaching me how to survive in this crazy world of theirs. That I know is pretty much a prerequisite.”

“Oh. OK.”

Jackie giggled, and Riley cracked a smile, shoulders sagging in relief. “See? I’m not so bad.” Her smile relaxed some, and she took a small step toward him. “I still say be on your toes around Ian if you ever do see him again but…if you’re with me I don’t think you have to worry too much.”

“OK.” Jackie smiled again, and with a crack and a sizzle, the area below Mount Rushmore was awash in color. “C’mon!” Jackie said, pulling Riley toward the stone railing over the water. “Let’s watch!”

“You like fireworks?” he asked.

“Love ‘em!” Jackie leaned against the railing, arms folded over it, as she stared at the blossoms of color exploding over the four honored President heads. Riley stared at her a moment, his arm hovering over her shoulders as he hesitated to touch her. Gently, though, he let his arm rest around her shoulders, and somewhat to his surprise, Jackie leaned into him. Riley couldn’t help but smile softly at her, watching the explosions of color in nothing short of rapturous wonder. For a while, it was only the two of them, and Riley wouldn’t have it any other way.


	5. 2015: Martin Odum Takes Flight

Martin frantically shoved all of his portable belongings into either his knapsack or his duffel bag; if he didn’t move quickly enough his shaking hands would drop something small, a clue to his location for the people who knew of this place and wanted him dead. He had to be careful.

Of course, that was provided he could think straight, and he could barely manage that at the moment.

He slung his knapsack over his shoulders and grabbed his duffel, and in one turn he was on his way to the door. He looked behind him as he exited the small, abandoned room he’d made his home for the past three weeks, and tossed the keys almost carelessly into the corner between the floor and the wall opposite his door. He didn’t even look back.

Martin knew of only two ways out of the building: an old, creaking wooden staircase and an even ricketier fire escape. Neither was a good option for a stealthy escape, so it was a choice between two evils. _If you gain enough ground now,_ he reminded himself, and he turned toward the stairs.

He moved quickly and kept to the wall, avoiding the worst of the staircase’s noise-making ability with ease. He glanced to the left as he reached the ground floor, and then moved briskly through the front door and onto the sidewalk. Martin threw his hood up, hunched his shoulders, and bowed his head slightly against the cold and wove his way through the back streets to the nearest Tube station. Periodically he glanced over his shoulder, or focused on the surroundings in case there were sounds he needed to know about, but all he found in the falling darkness were evening commuters and clusters of people hitting the pubs for their nights out. No steely-eyed man in sight.

Martin clenched his fists in his pockets and bit back his nerves, but it took him a matter of half a second to realize why he was having them in the first place: _the man was just that good._

He stopped and leaned against the wall of an abandoned council housing building, tipping his head back and trying to breathe. His heart was racing out of control, to the point that his head started to swim. The man whom he caught watching him probably knew everything about his life: where he chose to hide, where he picked up snatches of work under the table because he didn’t have the funds for a green card, the times he slipped off and tried to find faces he knew in the thousands upon thousands catalogued in the MI6 database, everything. The man could kill him if he wanted, and Martin would never see it coming.

But he didn’t.

And if he truly was that good, then he wanted to be spotted. But why?

The question caught him, and probably saved his life. His heart slowed back down to something resembling normal, and his fingers unwound. The ache in his hands dulled as he settled down and forced them to relax. He took a few deep breaths, let the crisp air sooth his soul and calm his body. Then he eased his eyes open and took in the crowd. There were still clusters of friends looking for a pub, there were still commuters, Martin even noticed the ones who were clearly late from the office for the third time this week and knew their significant others would be _highly_ displeased with them.

But he still didn’t see his tail.

_If the man is good, then let him follow,_ Martin decided, and he turned and walked down the sidewalk. _I’ve got a few questions for him when I catch him._


	6. 2001: The Captivation Of Katia Van Dees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My name is Dmitry Petrovich, and you all work for me now."

The easiest way Katia found to describe the moments before something major happened was to say that the air tasted differently. It was a taste she caught in her nose and on her palette when her mouth hung slightly open, but it was there nonetheless.

Of course, that was not at all how it happened. What happened was she heard something, the distant snapping of a twig or a bird taking off, for example, and suddenly a picture unfolded in her mind. A picture of things to come. If they were unbidden, they were always threatening, either to her directly or they contributed to a general air of foreboding about a place. But whenever Katia told that to someone else, she either got looks like she was an alien, or requests for fortune telling.

And that was definitely _not_ how her power worked.

So when Katia first started getting flashes of a fistfight about to start a few blocks over, she simply drifted away from the rest of the kids in her hostel on their tour of Prague, and wandered toward a truck yard partly enclosed by a chicken wire fence, following first the flashes, and then the noises: the clang of a man getting shoved into the cab of his own truck, skin and bone on hard metal, occasionally a man hitting the ground. It was less of a fistfight and more of an assault—she saw this when she heard the grunting, one man pounding his fists into the other as if the other were simply a punching bag or hanging carcass, the other attempting to escape but not getting very far. Then it eased up a little, and one man held the other by the collar. “Go tell your partners…that if they still have need for trucks and drivers, they should be polite. Introduce themselves to me.” The voice triggered a full picture in her mind: tall man, in his late thirties to early forties at the oldest, Russian, dress shirt, slender tie, slacks, wristwatch that he always wore.

The man let his punching bag fall to the dust and turned to face the crowd that had gathered to watch in terror. “My name is Dmitry Petrovich,” he said, placing his hands on his hips. “And you all work for me now.”

“Dmitry Petrovich,” she whispered, letting the words roll over her tongue and teeth. The stranger ordered the men in the crowd back to work, and they dispersed quickly. Katia pulled away from the fence and ducked into the shadows, peering at him as he passed. He swaggered into one of the buildings on sight and kicked the door open, and Katia could sense there was a man already inside to catch it for him. And he walked by with barely a glance and only a slight gesture for the other man to close the door.

Katia didn’t know this Dmitry Petrovich character from a hole in the wall, and what he was doing in Prague was anybody’s guess, but of one thing she was absolutely certain: he was connected. His money and resources, whatever they amounted to, could help her answer the one question that had been nagging her for years now:

_Who is this man?_

When she had no name, no likeness, no clue how she knew him, and only a series of descriptors, finding the man who haunted her had proven nearly impossible, but Katia was simply too driven (or too stubborn) to give up the quest. Simply put, the question bothered her.

But this man, this…Dmitry Petrovich. Something gave Katia the strong suspicion that he knew. He could give her the answers she sought.

If she could get close enough without him biting her head off.


	7. 2007: Phil McGregor Breaks Into Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil makes an unexpected move.

Phil leaned back in the driver’s seat of the car and stared out the windshield across the street where he’d parked his car, and into the enclosed lot behind the prison building. He checked his watch, and then grabbed the gun from the passenger’s seat as he climbed out of the car. He glanced in both directions as he reached the street and then started across. His heart thudded in his chest as he approached the lot. He cocked the gun and watched one of the guards approach, starting to get curious. Phil grit his teeth and shot him in the head, dropped the gun, and ran through the opening in the fence and around to a hidden, rarely-used back door surrounded by overgrown shrubbery.

Phil fumbled with his lock picks for several seconds before they slid into the keyhole, and several more after that before he started to see results. Alarms blared around him; he heard people start running about, shouting at each other various code words and instructions for catching the shooter as soon as possible. The lock clicked, and Phil slipped inside. Several people ran past without giving the door a second look. Phil exhaled, releasing some of his anxiety, and turned to the interior that the door opened up into.

The door was at the very end of a hall, lined by what looked like they used to be cells, converted into storage by the looks of things when Carter was in office. He started down the hall toward the other door, listening to the alarms and the guards trying to get everything under control and track him down. He tried to calculate how much time he had—Ian always seemed to know these things—but the beeping was just too distracting. All he knew was he had to move quickly. He opened the door and peered out, peeking in both directions before slipping out and hugging the wall as he made his way to the first of his target cellblocks.

A half-asleep guard staggered out the door, wondering what had gone on, and Phil slipped behind him and into the block, knowing full well next time he wasn’t going to be so lucky. He walked briskly down the hall, scanning the ground-level cells until three-quarters of the way to the end and to his right he spotted a splash of red. When he reached the cell and got his picks out to open the door, Victor stirred to wakefulness. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Shh,” Phil replied, before returning to his work. The lock clicked, and Phil pushed the door open enough to allow Victor to slip through. “Powell’s in the next one over,” he said, and Victor nodded and headed for the door. Phil followed at his heels.

“Hey, what’re you—” a guard started to ask before Victor slammed his head into the doorframe.

“Go!” Victor shouted, and Phil bolted. He vaulted over a desk and reached the opposite of the lobby in what felt like record time. This time he didn’t waste any time with lock picks, kicking the door open and bursting inside as guards chased after him. Two gunshots behind him forced him to duck out of the way as he bolted down the hall, and he didn’t stop until someone said, “Easy, mate! You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Panting, he backed up until he reached the cell in question and turned to face the speaker.

“Boy am I glad to see you,” Phil said.

Powell smiled. “Good to see you, too, McGregor.”

“C’mon, I’m gonna get you out of here.” Phil dug out lock picks again and inserted them into the lock. Several moments later he gave the picks the final twist and pushed the door open. Powell slipped out and closed the door behind him as Victor stepped into the block.

“Alright! It’s clear!” Victor shouted.

“We gotta go!” Phil said, running toward the door with Powell behind him.

“How’s it look out there?” Powell asked Victor when they reached him.

Victor handed him a gun. “Rough,” he said.

“Chin up. Phil, lead us out.”

“Ian first,” Phil said, turning down a hallway. Victor nodded to Powell, and they followed him, guns at the ready.

“Hold it! Stop right there!” a guard shouted, approaching them with his gun aimed at Phil’s head. Two shots rang out, one to each side of him, striking the guard in his shoulders and disarming him. Phil’s ears rang. Powell touched him on the shoulder and Phil thought he saw him mouth, “You okay, mate?” He nodded.

“Yeah, fine!” he replied. Powell jumped back, and Phil realized he’d been shouting. “Sorry!” he mouthed in response, while Victor popped an extra bullet in the wounded man’s head and kicked open the door. Powell supported the somewhat disoriented Phil as they followed him into the cellblock. Some five to ten feet within, Phil pulled away from Powell and tried to stagger along on his own.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Powell said, half to himself (as if it made a difference), and pulled Phil back toward him. Victor stopped in front of one of the cells, and Phil nodded in understanding and got out his lock picks. He took a deep breath and went slowly, knowing that for the time being at least his hearing was too shot to be reliable. Victor stepped into the middle of the hallway and held his gun up at shoulder height, pointed toward the ceiling.

Powell looked over his shoulder at Ian, leaning against the bars. “You doin’ alright?” he asked softly. Ian nodded, with an even softer affirmative. Phil gave the picks a final solid twist and pushed the door open, allowing Ian to slide out past him and into the hallway.

“OK, now we can go,” Phil said at what he hoped was a normal volume. He leaned on Powell for support and the four of them made their way back to the door, and the fight or die situation that awaited them beyond.


	8. 2015: Agent Ninety Determines A Course Of Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from the events of Singapore begins with figuring out what to do next.

Katia perched behind her brother, manipulating a pair of tweezers in the entry wound he’d sustained during the fight on the helipad. There was no exit wound, which was good news for 47 but bad news for his scapula. She’d gotten the bullet out first, that was the easy part (and the second easiest was the bits of fabric caught in the wound), but removing each and every bone fragment she could…that was harder, took longer. When she thought she had the last one she prodded, slightly and gently, but 47 flinched under her nonetheless. There was one more…

She gave a small triumphant squeak when she removed the last of the possibly dangerous bone fragments and straightened, dropping the tweezers in the as-clean-as-possible ashtray she co-opted. She reached for the rubbing alcohol and washcloth, dabbing some of the liquid on it and starting to wipe 47’s wound clean—yet again. He flinched at the sting of the alcohol, but didn’t move too much. Satisfied at the wound’s cleanliness she set the rag and bottle down, reaching for a pre-threaded needle. “Alright, this part will probably hurt,” she said, pinching the circular wound into a linear shape, and she started sewing, coarse stitches that did the job of holding the skin together and were easy to remove when the time came. 47 didn’t flinch or squirm this time. Maybe it was the advanced warning.

She cut the thread and tied it off before covering it with a bandage. “How do you feel?”

47 paused. “Better,” he said.

“Good,” Katia said, nodding. She dropped every used improvised medical supply into the ashtray and carried it to the bathroom, to soak in rubbing alcohol, to be followed by hot water later.

When she returned she hadn’t gotten farther than just barely around the sofa when he said, “You did well, Katia.” She paused, and looked him in the eye. It was the safest place she could look without feeling awkward about herself around her currently shirtless brother.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re learning. And you’ll get better.” _Well, no lies detected there,_ Katia thought. She _had_ , after all, noticed a marked improvement in both the range of her senses and her willingness to use them. “Where to next, Katia?”

“These people you work for, who want us dead…tell me about them.” She held his gaze as she sat on the coffee table. “Where are they based, where do their various assets aggregate, where can they be found?”

“Everywhere,” 47 said simply. “There is no one main headquarters; they have headquarters in every major city in the world, as well as many minor ones. Their operatives can be sent anywhere, and since there’s an open contract on our heads still they’ll follow us.” Katia pictured them all as dots on a map interface, congregating _en masse_ at two target points—them.

“There’s no avoiding them, then.”

“Exactly.”

“What will it look like if we picked off everyone who came after us?”

“Bad. Especially for the organizations that sent them.”

Katia nodded, weighing this. No matter what assassins ranging from amateurs to professionals to even more Agents would be after them, tracking their every move and trying to kill them at every opportunity. That map interface was looking mighty crowded. _I’ve been running my whole life._

She blinked, her eyes falling out of focus as a complicated network of safe houses and tunnels and back streets started to flood her mind. If she could keep them both hidden long enough…

“Katia.”

She started, and realized 47 must’ve been trying to get her attention for several moments now. “What’re you thinking?”

“How to get us out of here,” she said. “Where to go to keep us hidden.” She began to realize her mind could carry out the two processes at once, at least to a minimal, basic degree, because she’d already figured out what flight they needed to be on. “We need to get to the airport. We’re leaving Singapore.”

“To go where?”

“London.”

“Why?”

Why? There were a collection of news articles and memories floating about in her brain, linking two men in an absurdly simple way and now, giving Katia some direction. “To find the brother of a man I knew,” she said. “It’s a big risk, I know, but…” _Trust me. Please._

“Do you think he will help us, or try to kill us?”

“He’s a freelance criminal,” Katia said. “But he’s also a man for whom loyalty and connections are important—they have to be or else he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he has. If he knows I knew his brother, even as briefly as I did, we have a better shot than average Joe off the street certainly does.”

47 nodded ever so slightly. “London it is, then.”


	9. 2015: Martin Odum Discovers His Reflection

Martin sighed, dropping his duffel bag and knapsack against the wall of another ramshackle abandoned apartment. He dropped to his knees and leaned his forehead against the wall, shifting a few times to avoid splinters. One arm rested above his head, and his eyelids drooped closed. _OK, Martin,_ he thought, forcing himself to focus. _How’re you going to find this brother of yours?_

_Well, that part’s easy. It’s that man watching you you’ve got to be worried about._

Martin pulled away from the wall and shook his head, but that odd feeling remained. That sense of not just pulling away from his body, but pulling into different pieces. Different legends. “Stay focused,” he told himself. “Keep it together. What’s your plan? Where are you going to start?”

Facial recognition, he realized, looking up and leaning back slightly. All he needed was a partial match to his own face, and surely not _everyone_ in this town looked like him.

Filled with the adrenaline rush of a fresh break in a case, a renewed sense of purpose, he tore violently through his bags in search of his laptop, charging cord, and flash drives. He shoved these into his newly freed knapsack and rummaged through his freshly generated mess for at least a superficial change of clothes, and within five minutes he slipped out of his new hiding place and onto the street.

***

Martin found the relative calm and quiet of London as the hour approached midnight to be a blessing. In the stillness and light mist off the Thames, he could hear someone following him at least a block or so off, and he could be prepared.

But if his adversary was as good as all that and wanted to be spotted by him on purpose, he’d know the advantages the current conditions allowed Martin, and he’d know what to do about that. Either he wasn’t out tonight or he found a way to move about in the relative quiet without being noticed. Or he was capable of remotely tracking Martin without Martin’s being aware.

He shook the thoughts from his head, knowing he’d think himself into a death spiral if he allowed this train of thought to continue on unchecked. He needed to keep calm and he needed to stay focused. If he could find this brother he supposedly had, that was at least one problem solved, and perhaps he could even seek refuge while he worked out the rest. So, Martin turned toward the stairs to the Tube station and descended quickly. The trains wouldn’t run till early the next morning, so the station was quiet and Martin didn’t have to put up any pretense toward doing something he wasn’t.

He turned toward an offshoot tunnel and set up in an abandoned room furnished only by a table and chair. It had, in the past, occurred to him that he could live here; nobody would expect that, except that if they knew him at all, they probably would. And the people he was running from certainly knew him.

Martin took a deep breath for bravery and opened his laptop on the table as he sat in front of it. He rifled through his bag for a specific flash drive, extracted it, and opened the application that controlled his webcam. The lighting was poor, so he shifted so that the light from the screen illuminated his face as well as it could, and he took a few pictures, just for good measure. He leaned back into a more comfortable position when he closed the program and reached for his chosen flash drive. For a moment he hesitated, his hand hovering in midair over the drive. Did he want to do this? Was he ready for what he might find? For the first time in as long as he could remember he felt tantalizingly close to the truth—he could almost taste it—maybe that was what gave him pause?

This would haunt him forever if he didn’t know the answer. He snatched up the flash drive and plugged it in. A few clicks later he had entered his location of interest, set a fairly wide margin of error, and was running his own face through a facial recognition scan.

***

The laptop beeped, and Martin jolted awake and sat up, shaking his arm out as he straightened. He didn’t seem to remember falling asleep, but the clock on his computer suggested some three hours had passed. The laptop seemed to hold a charge better than he thought, but he fished out the cord and plugged it into the nearest outlet anyway before returning his attention to the results.

Staring back at him were fourteen images, rated in order of probability based on Martin’s previously set parameters. His eyes went to the first of these at once, and he clicked on it for an enlarged version. The image itself was from an article in _The Guardian_ that chronicled a case from several, several years back that was apparently such a big deal in the United States that it became international news, as well. But it felt almost exactly like looking in a mirror.

_That’s it. That’s who I need to find. Ian Howe._


	10. 2007: Jackie And Riley Stare Undeath In The Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a whopper in store for Riley and Jackie, and no, it doesn't come from Burger King.

Jackie struggled to get her laughter under control and said, “OK, let me get this straight. Your buddy Ben tells you after you find the first treasure that if you ever find another one like it then you get to make the call on the finder’s fee, and so you take two gold bricks from _Cibola_?”

Riley laughed a little. “Yep,” he said.

She lowered her voice. “He let you get away with that?”

“I don’t think he noticed.” Riley couldn’t help but snicker and choke back another laugh. Jackie opened her mouth and widened her eyes.

“Are you going to tell him? Are you going to let anybody find out?”

“I hope not. I’m probably screwed if I do.”

“Bury it,” she said in all seriousness. He stopped and looked at her, blinked in surprise and couldn’t help but let “What?” slip through his lips. “Bury it. Them. Hide them. But make sure you can find it later. When I talk to my cousin again next week we can work out somewhere you can store them long-term. Maybe his Swiss banker.”

“He has a Swiss banker?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”

Riley took a deep breath. “You want me to collaborate with Ian to…hide these things?” Jackie nodded simply. Riley shook his head. “Right, I’ve gotta stop thinking that’s weird.”

“Not right now. I mean I just met you. For all you know I’m just as lethal as my cousin and crazy to boot.”

Riley shrugged. “You seem pretty sane to me.” He dropped his shoulders as soon as the last word passed through his mouth. “OK that doesn’t mean much from the guy who writes a book about conspiracy theories.”

Jackie chuckled. “I was just screwing with you. But seriously, though, you should start a buried treasure.”

“You…you think that’ll work?”

“For the time being, yeah.”

“Oh, well I’ll…I should…can I call you if I need help?”

“Yeah, sure. Here,” she said as she fished around for her pen again. “Let me see your hand.” Riley held his hand out, palm up, and Jackie turned it over and began gingerly writing on the back of his hand. “Palms get sweaty,” she said, perhaps sensing his confused expression, or knowing going in that she would cause such.

“Oh, OK,” Riley said with a chuckle. Jackie smiled in response, and her writing extended onto his wrist just enough to be noticeable before she finished, straightened, and capped the pen, dropping it back into her bag. “Just call that number if you need anything: pointers, an extra pair of hands with a shovel, more general life advice…”

Riley laughed. “Will do,” he said. “So…do you have any plans for the rest of the night?”

“Not really. I mean I have to be back home kind of early so I can get to bed because barring any…unforeseen…circumstances…”

Jackie’s eyes had drifted over Riley’s shoulder, and her seemingly usual upbeat and happy expression dropped almost completely. Riley was tempted to ask what was wrong but couldn’t find the words, and after several moments he turned to face whatever it was that she was staring at.

“Riley get behind me,” she said suddenly, pulling him behind her and stepping between him and the hooded man approaching them briskly. She dropped her purse and shrugged off her jacket.

“J-Jackie?” Riley asked, looking around for witnesses who could possibly be of help.

“It’s OK. I got this.” Riley stepped close to her, and she took a deep breath as the man approached. By the time he reached them he was running; he barely stuttered out “Jackie!” before she delivered a firm right hook to his cheek.

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” he said, straightening and holding his hands up. “It’s just me,” he added, one hand swiping his hood off his head. Jackie punched him in the face again. The man breathed heavily and straightened one more time, taking a step back and looking at her again. “OK, I’m pretty sure I deserved that one,” Shaw said.


	11. 2015: Martin Odum Attends His First Family Reunion In Years

Martin couldn’t help but become increasingly aware of the way people looked at him as he made his way through the streets of London, glancing at the hastily scrawled address on his hand. By the time an older gentleman sneered down his nose at him from the other side of the street, Martin was keenly aware that yes, he hadn’t had a proper shower in a week, he hadn’t shaved in days, and he looked like a homeless man. He spotted a woman who seemed hell bent on running into him just to start something, and he sidestepped her effortlessly. _Not today,_ he thought.

Briefly he thought back to the man he’d run into the previous day, the poor terrified old sop who was firmly convinced he would report this to ‘his brother’. If Martin was correct in his assumptions and the facial recognition software did its job, then this brother of his should be in a high-rise around the next left. Given the address, Martin figured this Ian character had done quite well for himself making a living in the underworld. In a world where everybody wanted to be a gangster Howe must’ve had something that stood out. Brains, perhaps? Charisma?

Martin rounded the corner and looked up, counting numbers in his head as he passed each structure. Roughly halfway down the block he turned and walked easily into the lobby of a high-rise apartment building, making a beeline for the elevator. A few people in the lobby looked up, out of natural human curiosity, but looked back once such curiosity was satisfied. He pressed a button on the panel and settled back to wait, and he started to second-guess himself. What if he made a mistake? This man Ian Howe, Martin didn’t know this guy from a hole in the wall other than that he looked almost exactly like him and was a criminal, a wealthy one but a criminal nonetheless. What if he said something wrong, did something wrong, and by the end of the day found himself sleeping with the fishes?

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Martin patiently waited for the three passengers to file out before entering himself, checking his palm, and pressing the button for the top floor. He took a step back and looked into the stainless steel at his hazy reflection. After a moment his temple came to rest against the cool metal. _To think, it’s not a terror cell, it’s not Verax,_ he thought dryly as his doubts started to settle in again. Did he want to meet this man? Really? Or should he be content not knowing? Should he try to clear the name of Martin Odum instead of trying to find some other identity, chase some other legend? God knows he has plenty of those floating around in his bloody head. Did he honestly need another one?

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Of course he wanted to know. This would haunt him for the rest of his life if he didn’t get it figured out. He raised his eyes to the display near the elevator roof, watching the numbers tick off as he approached his destination, and he straightened. He glanced at the address on his palm again, took a deep breath for bravery, and watched the display that tracked the elevator’s progress for the next several moments. The elevator came to a stop and dinged again, and Martin stepped out into a little alcove facing a door. He checked his palm again; this seemed like the right place, so, with a heavy lead ball in his stomach, he stepped up to the door, reached up, and knocked.

***

Ian started at the sound, his eyes flying open, and he looked quickly at the general origin of the sound. Shaw’s arm tightened some around Ian’s shoulder, his thumb stroked back and forth as a gesture of reassurance, but by then Ian’s relief at realizing he was safe and at home had drawn him back into Shaw’s side. Two moments later, reality set in. “Shit, somebody knocked,” he said, and he pushed himself up again. This time Shaw’s hand slid easily down his shoulder, across his back, and onto the bed as he sat up and snatched a shirt off the floor and pulled it on. He walked out of the bedroom and up to the front door, unlocked the two deadbolts, the lock on the doorknob, and removed the chain lock, and opened the door.

Ian’s heart nearly stopped in his chest.

By the expression of the man in front of him, Ian was almost sure the same thing had happened to him.

Part of Ian wanted to crack a smile, but he was still too stunned to fully do so. “They…they let you come back,” he said softly after several moments.

The visitor scrunched his brow. “I’m…sorry?” he asked.

_Something’s wrong,_ Ian noted. He took a step closer to the man and lowered his voice. “Just give me a name,” he whispered. “They’ll be dead by tomorrow morning.”

“Listen, Mr. Howe—”

Ian’s eyebrows cocked. “You don’t remember me.”

“There’s a lot that I don’t remember, actually. I…I don’t even know my own real name.” He let a laugh escape him, as if his predicament had become too much and drifted into the absurd. He licked his lip and then looked at Ian, who smirked.

“That one’s easy,” Ian said. “Your name’s John. John Howe.”

“It’s really that simple?” he asked in disbelief.

Ian laughed slightly. “Come in,” he said, stepping to the side and gesturing to the interior of his apartment. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“Can…can you call me Martin for now?” he asked, facing Ian as he closed the door behind them.

“I can do that,” Ian replied. “Tea, coffee, Scotch…?”

“Scotch, if it’s not too early.” Ian chuckled as he retreated into the kitchen area, bending over for a bottle in a bottom cupboard. “So, um,” Martin said, scratching his temple slightly, “you’re my brother.”

Ian laughed slightly, snatching two shot glasses off the counter. “Yep.” He set the glasses down and poured measures for himself and Martin as he sat on the sofa opposite the armchair Martin had claimed.

“I have a brother,” Martin said to himself, exhaling heavily. “Wow…” Ian chuckled one more time, and Martin grabbed a shot glass and threw back the contents. As he set the glass down, he exhaled again and opened his eyes.

“Let’s start with the first thing you remember,” Ian prompted.

“Iraq, 2004…”


	12. 2001: Katia Van Dees Dives Into The fire

Katia waited for the car to round the corner several blocks down the street before stepping out of her hiding place. About her, the men of the truck yard continued to busy themselves with various tasks. Fear crackled off each and every one of them, a sensation that crossed her flesh when she passed them on her way to the office space Dmitry had co-opted earlier that morning. Some of them watched her, while others made a point to not even look in her general direction. She tried to pretend she didn’t notice, and she let herself into the building.

The air stank of dust and nearly every available flat surface was cluttered with paper, the desk included. She walked up to the desk, and her eyes roamed over the tops of the stacks and the most recently disturbed paperwork. There were brief notations in cursive Cyrillic, and after squinting at them for a few seconds she determined they were of the most mundane nature imaginable, save a few referencing some of the glaring accounting errors he’d encountered as he settled in and looked over everything for the first time. _Hmm,_ she thought to herself. _Never took Dmitry for an accountant._

Gently she slid a paper out of the way and read the title of another, and she scanned the rest of the space. She didn’t expect much from a man who just got there, but she was short of good places to start prying. It was either this or—

_Why didn’t I think of that sooner?_

She swung herself around the corner of the desk, splaying papers about as she breezed toward the door, past a man with a packet of papers in his hand who shouted after her as she passed. She ignored him, weaving through the truck yard to the nearest exit, and she rounded a corner on the sidewalk to a back alley. She cracked a smile when she spotted a slick black car parked at the curb, without license plates. She jogged up to the car and tried the passenger seat door. Locked.

Katia sighed, scrunched her brow, and looked around her. Her hand dropped to her side as her eyes landed on a length of pipe from the truck yard. She bit her lip, glancing from the pipe to the window and back again, and it occurred to her if she wanted Dmitry to cooperate if he caught her, her odds were better if she caused as little damage to his car as possible. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried the door again, getting a pretty good feel for the lock in place. _OK,_ she thought, nodding, and released the door handle. She patted herself down but found nothing remotely useful, so that left whatever she could reach, which were, incidentally enough, scraps of old chicken wire.

In retrospect, the bolt cutters were overkill, but they were the closest thing to hand and Katia’s mind was already several steps ahead, running several different contingency plans based on what she found or didn’t find, who caught her, and when. But once two pieces of wire were free, she tossed the cutters to the side and turned back to the door, gently working the passenger side lock. Operating on the feel of things and the mental image she’d gathered of the lock, she had the door clicking within seconds, and she opened the door with ease and slipped inside.

The car smelled new, and expensive. There was a hint of cologne in the smell, as well, and in a way it was very…

Katia exhaled, pushing the thought from her mind, and opened the glove box. She found the owner’s manual and the registration, printed in Cyrillic, but not much else. Glancing in the mirror, she opened the center console, where she found only a fancy black and gold pen. In a brief spurt of frustration she slammed the console shut and slumped back in the seat. Her eyes briefly went to the rearview mirror, and she noticed something on the ledge behind the rear bench seats. She looked over her shoulder, and a moment later she was scrambling between the front seats, landing on her knees in the back seat with a harsh but quiet exhale. Gingerly she patted the fabric of the shelf behind the seat, and she cracked a smile when she felt the anomaly under her fingertips.

She spotted an almost imperceptible seam in the fabric and worked at the stitches with her thumbnail. The thread snapped under her nail and, emboldened, she continued, gently cutting stitches until she had enough room to maneuver. She peered under the flap for a moment before carefully working whatever was causing the anomaly free. She settled back on her haunches and examined the small device, turning it over in her fingers and squinting at it. It was black and oblong, with soft edges; it almost looked like an oval. Katia noted small perforations covering most of one half of the device, and almost at once she realized what it was.

_Somebody had bugged Dmitry’s car._

_Oh shit._

_Oh **shit**._

Oh God what could she say? Anything at all would alert this connected Russian man that she’d been in his car without his permission at the very _least_ , and discovering the bug could only give her life so much protection, and in a situation like that _hell no_ was she going to start asking for anything.

It occurred to her that she could say nothing, that she could simply get out of the car and walk away and never look back, never mention it again, maybe take the bug with her to see if she could figure out who planted it in the first place (another piece of information that might garner her enough favor to be spared). But the moment the thought came to her she realized something: she could feel a car approaching the truck yard; the driver and two passengers, one of them Dmitry, seated behind the passenger’s seat, leaning against the door with his cheek resting on his hand staring out over Prague while the sunlight streamed into his window and danced off his clothes and skin.

_Shit!_ Katia swore to herself, as she scrambled back into the front seat to leave the way she had come in. The car pulled in and stopped, and Katia threw herself onto the sidewalk. She clambered to her feet and locked the passenger door, throwing it shut, and with that she walked briskly around the corner to what counted as the truck yard’s main entrance. She willed herself to act natural, prayed she wasn’t noticed. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, her fingers curled tightly around the bug she’d discovered. She kept her head down, but watched Dmitry out of the corner of her eye roughly every five seconds.

Katia tripped over the curb across the street from the truck yard and jerked her arms out of her pockets to stabilize herself on the corner of a brick building before she fell forward into the alley. _Shit he’s looking at me,_ she realized, straightening slowly and turning to face him, meeting Dmitry’s vaguely curious expression. She swallowed hard, and impulsively her fingers tightened around the bug. “Who’re you?” he asked, resting her hands on his hips, pushing his suit jacket out of the way.

“K-Katia,” she said around the lump in her throat that resisted her at every opportunity. “Katia van Dees.” _It’s OK_ , she told herself. _Just tell the truth. Pray he lets you live._

Dmitry glanced at her hand. “What’s that?”

“I-I found it in your car. I think it might be a bug.”

“What were you doing in my car?” This time Katia clammed up. Dmitry cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I think you can help me find him,” she blurted out. “I think you know who he is and where I can _finally_ start looking for him.”

“Him who?”

“I don’t know his name, just that he’s tall, possibly Slavic in origin, black hair I think… I know, it sounds like a lot of people so just…forget I asked,” Katia said, shaking her head and starting to walk away.

“Wait,” Dmitry said, and she stopped. “This man, why do you need to find him?”

Katia slowly turned to face him. “I need his help,” she answered. She pitched the bug down the street and watched Dmitry watch it skitter along before returning his eyes to her.

“With what?” he asked.


	13. 2007: Shaw Gets A Chance To Explain

Jackie blinked, took a step back. Blindly she reached a hand behind her and helped Riley to his feet. She could feel Riley’s hand shaking in hers, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him open and close his mouth a couple of times, struggling for the right words. It started to seep through her shock exactly what Shaw had just done, and she threw Riley’s hand away from her and stormed Shaw. “You son of a _bitch_!” she shouted. Her actions seemed to jolt Riley out of his stupor, because a second later he jolted to action, grabbing her by the elbows uttering a jumble of words to the effect of “No, no, no, please don’t that’s enough.” After several moments Jackie stopped struggling against him, though she still continued to glare at Shaw.

“OK, I’m gonna let you go now,” Riley said. “Promise you won’t try to kill him?”

Jackie looked at him, nodding. “OK,” she replied. “Promise.” Gingerly, he released her elbows, and she looked back at Shaw.

Riley stepped around Jackie and approached him, his jaw slack, eyes wide, and brows slightly knit together. “I…I don’t…How…I watched you fall,” he finally said.

“It was a pretty nasty fall, too,” Shaw said. “They said when they found me that I was barely even alive. It was weeks before I was up and walking again.”

“Wait, they? They who?” Jackie asked.

“They’re called Octagon. They sunk everything on clone soldiers, lost investors over it once upon a time, and then, they proved it can work.”

“Wait, you’re….you’re saying you’re…” Riley stuttered. Shaw nodded. “Holy shit,” Riley muttered as he pressed his palms to his temples, turned away from them, and took a few steps.

“There are more of you?” Jackie asked Shaw; Shaw nodded again. “How many?”

Shaw hissed, rolling his head from side to side and biting his lower lip. “Three hundred,” he said, looking at Jackie again.

“Are you serious?” Riley asked, turning to face them again. Jackie looked at him over her shoulder and offered him her hand.

“Yeah,” Shaw said, nodding a third time. “I’m serious.” Jackie let her hand fall when Riley didn’t take it, and she looked back at Shaw.

“Anyone else we need to worry about?”

“Yeah. The clones aren’t gonna hurt ya; they’re my brothers. But there’s a battalion of guards, a cadre of scientists who know all the tricks that can kill us and were specially trained in combat, more reserve soldiers than you can shake a stick at. Those people, they’ll hurt ya.”

“So how many of _those_ are there?” Jackie asked. Riley had drifted close to Jackie and latched onto her upper arm with one hand. She squared her shoulders and kept her head level.

“Six hundred fifty guards, about twenty scientists, reserves numbering over a thousand.” Jackie nodded and exhaled heavily.

“That’s a lot,” she said.

“Yeah. But there’s something else, too.” Jackie canted her head away from him and narrowed her eyes. “I need your help.”

“You need…my help. Against upwards of two thousand people?”

“I need you to help me find Ian.”

Jackie paused, tilted her head forward slightly. “This isn’t about mustering the manpower to stop these guys, is it.”

Shaw shook his head. “No. It’s not.”

“Not even slightly?” Riley asked meekly over Jackie’s shoulder. Jackie elbowed him sternly, but not to harm.

“Not to say I couldn’t talk to him about it,” Shaw ceded. Jackie looked at him out of the corner of her eye and then turned her head toward him again. “But that’s not really what I’m after.”

Jackie nodded. “Well, you’re in luck. I happen to know exactly where we can find him.”


	14. 2015: Agents Encounter Undeath On The Streets Of Singapore

47 glanced at Katia, curled up in the passenger seat of their stolen Audi as sound asleep as she could manage. Which wasn’t very sound at all. She mumbled and squirmed, twitched and scrunched her face periodically. He moved one hand to the top of the steering wheel and with the other reached out to touch her.

Katia gasped. “Uh? Oh.” Her eyes fell on 47’s cuff and then on his profile as he looked back to the road.

“How often do you have nightmares?” 47 asked.

Katia straightened, shifting into a seated position in the passenger seat and blinking the last vestiges of sleep away. “All the time,” she said. “That’s what the sleeping pills were for.”

“To help you sleep so you wouldn’t dream.”

“Exactly.”

47 considered her out of the corner of his eye for several moments before returning his full attention to the road. He weighed what she’d said, turning it over in his mind for a moment. He had moments of curiosity about what she’d been dreaming about, but instead he said, “My stance on the pills still stands. You need a clear head, Katia.” He glanced at her one more time. “Try to get some more sleep.”

She studied him a moment, and then nodded. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes, letting herself relax. After all, she reasoned with herself, she’d know if anything was truly threatening them, and besides, 47 was here.

47 listened to her drift off again, and he rounded the corner at the next light, on his way to the airport.

All at once Katia’s eyes flew open. “Shit!” she hissed. “He’s still alive!”

“What’s going on, Katia?” 47 asked, pointedly.

“We have company,” she said, and she sat up and looked out the rear windshield. “Two behind us, motorcycles, gaining fast. Smith is in another car, a block to our right. He’s tracking his friends.”

47 jerked the wheel hard to the left, throwing Katia into the door. Katia clung to the back of the passenger seat as 47 sped up. She watched the motorcycles trying to follow them, making wide turns as a result and nearly bowling over pedestrians, who proceeded to shout obscenities back at them. “Go right!” she said to 47, and oddly enough, he complied. He trusted her instincts that much to let them backseat drive?

This time one of the motorcycles flipped over on the turn, rolling over the pelvis of the rider in what looked to Katia like a grisly fashion. His companion had to swerve around him and barely lost control himself. She sensed Smith struggling to get the driver to turn to continue following them. Maybe 47 had a point with those sleeping pills.

She took a deep breath, and felt the whole world slow down. “Left!” she said, hanging on tight as 47 turned. She watched their tail swerve but maintain his pursuit. She held her hand out to him. “Give me your gun!”

He looked at her. She could feel it. But she didn’t have time for a discussion on the Sacrament of the Silverballers. “Wanna wait till we get shot at first?” she snapped. 47 sighed and thrust one of his Silverballers into her hand. She took aim, tracked her target for two full seconds, and fired. The bullet blasted a hole in the rearview windshield and struck the rider in the helmet, knocking him off the motorcycle and sending him tumbling end over end in the street. Katia handed the gun back to 47 and settled back in the seat. “Turn right before the next big intersection. We can’t let Smith see us.”

47 holstered his gun and turned right one block before the intersection in question. Katia turned to face forward and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She could feel Smith’s car navigating the streets behind them, trying to get eyes on them again. “Left,” she said. 47 turned more sharply than he needed to. Katia braced herself against the door and the glove box.

“Never ask for my guns again,” 47 said tersely.

_The Sacrament of the Silverballers indeed,_ Katia thought bitingly. “If we die because of that attitude I’m blaming you.” 47 said nothing, but the air did feel a little lighter once both their feelings on the matter were aired out, tersely as they were. “Turn right again.” 47 turned, less sharply this time. Katia glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Smith’s car. Split seconds later he realized it was them, because the sounds of tires screeching reached her ears. “Left.” She glanced at 47 as he turned, glancing in the mirror. Did he hear them, too? Most likely, the man was incredibly perceptive. Why he needed Katia was beyond her, but for all she knew it was all a test. A big massive test that she would probably fail anyway.

Flashes crossed her mind, and she started directing 47 more firmly, more resolutely. 47 regarded her somewhat approvingly, perhaps with a slight smile, though Katia couldn’t be sure, and continued to follow her directions. Katia glanced in the mirror, watching Smith gain on them. He’d honed in.

Katia turned her gaze back to the road ahead. “One more turn,” she said. “A right.”

Something clicked in 47’s mind, and Katia knew he figured out where she was leading him. She smiled. “Trust me,” she said. She only hoped this crazy plan of hers worked.


	15. 2015: Twin Brothers Face Their Truths

Ian regarded Martin for a long moment after he’d finished his tale. His eyes went to Shaw, who’d been watching with intense interest for perhaps the past hour and a half, arms folded, leaning against the doorway to their bedroom, biting his lip a little bit. “So this…this Jason Shaw, and his company, Verax, are pursuing you,” he said. “And they’re using the FBI to do it.”

“And they probably have their own resources, too,” Martin replied. “There’s a man following me, a good one.”

Ian nodded, considering this. “Alright,” he said. “You keep an eye on him. I’ll manage everything else.”

“Really? It’s that easy?”

“Listen, mate,” Shaw said, straightening and walking toward them. He sat on the couch next to Ian. “My man’s got this. Whatever big complicated thing needs doing, he can do it. He’s smart, he can muster the manpower. He can do it.”

Ian grinned and leaned toward him. “Thanks, Shaw,” he said, kissing him on the cheek. Shaw smiled in response, and Martin couldn’t help but smile at Ian and his partner; they seemed so happy.

“I hope I don’t seem intrusive in asking, but how long have you…”

Shaw laughed. “’Bout, what? Thirty years?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Ian added.

“Well done,” Martin said.

“Thank you,” Ian said. “As I said, don’t worry about anything but the man watching you, alright? I’ll handle everything else.” Martin nodded. “And, if you have any questions about anything that happened before Raining Fire, or if you remember anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Martin nodded again. “Thank you,” he said. “And thanks for the Scotch, even if it is early,” he added with a smile. “Do you have a number I can reach you at?” he asked, reaching for his flip phone in his pocket.

“You are on the run,” Ian noted, but he gave Martin the digits anyway and allowed Martin to input them into his phone’s contacts menu.

“It’s a price you pay for trying to do the right thing but being up against a monster like Verax,” Martin said. “Just…for my own sake I can trust you, right?”

“Even though you don’t remember me right now, you can trust me. I give you my word,” Ian said. “I’d never double cross my brother.”

“So I have a staunch ally then.”

“Indeed you do.”

Martin shook Ian’s hand as they stood. “I really appreciate your help,” he said. “I could use it right now. All the help I can get. But I can’t stay.”

“I understand, it’s a lot to take in. Go ahead, take your time. You have my number. Call if you need anything. My phone’s always on me.”

“Thanks, M—Ian.”

“Not a problem, mate. Good luck out there. Stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll try my best,” Martin said with a laugh. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Oh we got that covered,” Shaw said, grinning.

“Thanks for the talk, and the Scotch, and your help. I’ll be around, I’ll be in touch, but I’ve got to be off the grid a lot of the time until this gets sorted out.”

“I understand,” Ian said. “Good luck, Martin.” He shook Martin’s hand one last time with a smile and watched him walk out of the apartment.

“I have to call him,” Shaw said, looking up at Ian.

“Who?” Ian asked, turning to face him.

“We’ll have to do a hit, and we can’t do it ourselves. We have to phone it out. We need a guy who does this for a living, but not just anyone. We need the legend himself.”

“You can’t be thinking…” But Shaw nodded. “OK,” Ian said. “You call him. Get in touch with him however you can, smoke signals if you must. Leave the rest of this matter to me.” Ian sat back down, reaching for a legal pad and a pen.

***

Martin stepped back onto the street with more confidence than he’d entered the apartment building with. Whoever looked at him he simply ignored, after ascertaining that they were judging him negatively rather than someone who actually set out to follow him around. Except for one.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his tail from the day before. He slowed down, allowing the other man to approach. Martin led them somewhere with few witnesses, primarily ones who were apathetic to their surroundings on a good day and made a point of avoiding them on a bad one, and he grabbed the man by the collar and pushed him into an alley wall. “What the hell do you want?” he growled.

“Whoa, easy, mate,” the man said, holding up his hands. “I’m just here to make sure nothin’ happens to you.”

“Prove it.”

“We heard about your situation with Verax from some of our other assets, the higher ups sent me to track you down and make sure they didn’t get to you again. Those fuckers are bad news and we know all about it.”

Martin narrowed his eyes and leaned in close, tightening his grip for good measure. “Who are you?” he asked in a low, breathy growl. If he were a different person, say Dante or Dmitry, he knew he’d break the man’s neck and ask questions later. But Martin was too nice, too merciful for that, and besides, a man couldn’t speak with a broken neck.

“Name’s Conrad. C’mon, mate. We’re teammates.”

“Never seen you before.”

Conrad studied him. “Damn. Iraq addled you more than we thought.”

“You know about Iraq. You know about Raining Fire, John Cameron, Jason Shaw.”

“We know it all. Hell, we _sent_ you on that mission!” Conrad hissed. He took a deep breath, clearly he was trying to keep from being heard, or at the very least understood. “Look. We know you. We have everything you need to know about yourself on file.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“MI6.”

_Good,_ Martin thought. _That detail matches up._ “Tell me. In your precious little files do you mention a brother?”

Conrad nodded. “Ian Howe. Pulled himself up through the ranks of London crime. You and him were caught in a nasty divorce when you were ten, you’ve got a sister, she was twelve at the time. Her name’s Sarah. Parents Carlton Howe and Emily Richardson.”

“This is public record,” Martin sneered. But if he were to be fair, he’d realize that whatever would prove this man’s intentions was either lost behind the block in his mind where even he couldn’t be sure exactly, or was so risky he’d get himself in trouble regardless of what happened. Except one particular detail. “Tell me about when I called down the air strike.”

“Verax had Hussein’s WMDs. You knew, and you called Broken Arrow to destroy them. They knew you were a spy for us, a spy for Six. They wanted to rib you for it, we all know. One of our informants, he told us everything he knew. Name Dobson.”

“Kyle? That’s why he was so willing to talk to me.”

“Kyle spilled to us right after the incident in Iraq, and we made him promise to get in touch with you again if you ever found each other.”

“He died before he could get in touch with you,” Martin guessed.

“So they told me to keep an eye on you the second you escaped to London, we were sure you would. It’s my job to protect you from Verax.”

“So you’ve been following me, making sure no one else is.” Conrad nodded. Martin found himself starting to relax. He seemed legit, but Martin had to be sure. “I’ll allow you to keep following me,” he said, releasing Conrad. “If you’re right, your actions will speak for themselves. If you’re wrong, well, your ass is mine.” Conrad nodded again, more vigorously. Martin took a step away from him, nodding in response.

He gave Conrad a final salute and stepped out of the alley, on his way to his new home. He staggered out of a world of familiar allies turned against him or sent underground into a world of unfamiliar allies who exploited the underworld to their benefit. He didn’t fully know what to make of it.


	16. 2001: Katia Van Dees Tastes Success

“That’s quite the story,” Dmitry said, putting his feet up on the desk. Katia had finished her haphazardly constructed description of her abilities and her hopes for what would happen once she found this man she was looking for. She could tell at once Dmitry was skeptical, and that meant it was her head. But Katia could say nothing else; she’d already explained herself and the ball was wholly in Dmitry’s court.

_You made a mistake._

_You have to do damage control. You have to find a way out._

_No._ This voice was calmer, but new. It unsettled her perhaps more than Dmitry’s words ever would, even if he’d just ordered her death. _No,_ it said. _You are still safe. You will panic yourself to death. You did what was best for you, you told the truth. You were honest. That is all you can do, you can do nothing further._

Oddly enough, Katia started to settle down. “It’s my story,” she said. “And I’m sticking to it.”

“Good.” Katia’s thoughts stopped in their tracks. “This man you hope to find, you are telling me all this because you think I might know where he is?”

Katia nodded. “Yes.”

“Hm. Tell me again what you know of him?”

“Slavic origin, tall, I recall dark hair… that’s it, really. I’m sure it sounds like lots of people you know. I understand if you can’t help me.”

“If you saw him, do you think you would recognize him?”

“Without a doubt,” Katia said at once. Dmitry nodded, and somewhat to Katia’s surprise, got to his feet and walked over to where his briefcase rested against a pillar in the somewhat rundown structure he set up shop in. He took the briefcase back to his desk and rifled through it for several moments—Katia registered the combination with ease, and it soothed her—before fishing out a rectangular scrap of photographic paper and presenting it to her.

“Is this him?”

“Yes,” Katia said quickly; she’d barely looked at the photo, but she was just as sure. “Where’d you get that?”

“Off of security footage in Kiev,” he said, leaning back in his seat and setting the photo scrap on the table with some sharpness. “He looked quite a bit at the camera, at lots of cameras. He was jumpy and running from someone.”

“Do…do you know who?” Dmitry shook his head.

“Where has he been, in Kiev?”

Dmitry thought a moment, then said, “He stayed briefly at a residential unit, got a storage unit, traveled much lighter after that.”

“Do you have addresses?”

He picked up a pen and scribbled a few things down on a piece of paper. “Talk to this man,” he said, handing her the slip. Katia nodded her thanks, crumpled the paper up, and shoved it into one of her pockets. Dmitry leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. “Anything else?” he asked.

“I…I think that’s everything,” Katia replied. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” This was better than she’d anticipated. “ _Spasibo._ ”

“You speak Russian?” he asked in the language in question.

“A little.”

“You run a lot, don’t you?” Katia noted that he spoke slowly. “From, to…” She nodded. “Want to learn _fenya_?”

“What?” She’d heard of it, but she hadn’t heard it spoken. Besides, why was he offering?

“ _Fenya,_ ” he said again. “I’m offering to teach it to you.”

_Russian dialect of criminals_ , she thought. “I don’t…learn languages in the usual way,” she said.

“How _do_ you learn languages?”

“I listen. In a day I have a working knowledge of how the language works.”

Dmitry smiled. “You’re interesting, Katya.”

“Thanks?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Part of her swore at the first available opportunity he was going to sell her to the highest bidder. Another part was firmly resolved to run or kick any and all necessary ass in order to avoid this.

“Meet me tomorrow morning, nine fifteen,” he said.

“Somewhere public,” she replied sternly. “With lots of witnesses. You’re not taking me anywhere.”

He smiled. “Anything you wish.”

_He’s still trying to lure you in. Be on your guard._

“There’s a restaurant I’ve been wanting to check out,” she offered.

“Go on…”


	17. 2007: Ian Howe Hears His Lover's Voice Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! What we've all been waiting for! Or what some small segment of us have been waiting for.

Phil huddled in the back seat with Ian as Victor navigated his car back to the flat Phil had rented. His ears still rung and buzzed, and it was virtually impossible for him to hear anything. Powell had slipped industrial noise-cancelling earphones over his ears to protect them from further damage, and frankly Phil couldn’t be more grateful. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ian, and tapped him on the shoulder, smiling softly when Ian looked at him. Ian smiled back and tapped him, as well. Phil’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out and handed it to Ian.

“Hello?” Ian said.

“Ian!” Jackie squealed.

“Jackie, how are you?”

“Ian wait, what’re you doing out of pr—how come I can…Ian did…did Phil break you out?!”

“He did.”

“Holy shit! Go Phil!”

Ian chuckled. “Go Phil indeed. But go easy on him, please. He needs to regain his hearing.”

“What happened?”

“Guns went off too close to his eardrums, no silencers. So, what do you need?”

“Shaw’s alive.”

Ian sat up straighter than he ever had before in his life. “What?!”

Two seconds later, Ian heard Shaw’s voice over the line. “Hey, love.”

“Sh-Sh—” Victor and Powell looked over their shoulders at him, Phil studied him intently. But Ian didn’t register any of them.

“I’m sorry,” Shaw said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner, I…”

“You’re…I can’t believe…how are you…”

“Do you…do you wanna speak to Jackie again?”

“No,” he said suddenly. “Stay. Please.” _Stay, stay forever and let me hear you. Let me see you, feel you, taste you. It’s been so long…_ “Wh…how…”

“Shhh,” Shaw whispered. “Shh… It’s alright, I’m OK now. Jackie’s here, she’s still got that arm of hers, everything’s gonna be fine. Tell me where you want to start,” he said.

“How?”

“How did I survive?” Ian could only nod mutely. “Barely. It was a nasty fall. It took me months to wake up. Another several months to escape. Ian, the people who found me are…they’re not the best people. They’re…dangerous.”

There were people after Shaw, that Shaw felt threatened by. That was something Ian could focus on. “Tell me more about them, love.” _It’s the only thing keeping me sane through all this. There’s a threat to you. I have to stop them, or you’ll end up dead for real. Let me help._

“The corporation’s called Octagon. They…they conduct genetic experiments. They’re…they’re very good at it. I have something like three hundred living brothers.”

“Stop, stop. Let me go through this. This sounds like science fiction. I…I… OK. Let me make sure I have this right. Octagon. Conducts genetic experiments. And you have three hundred ‘brothers’. You’re…”

“Yeah.”

Ian leaned back in the seat, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed heavily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to start over. I wanted to forget that I’m a freak. That stuff…that stuff was supposed to stay out of our life together.”

“You never planned on dying,” Ian whispered.

“Yeah.”

“OK…OK…Octagon, you escaped from them?”

“Yeah.”

“And they’re after you.”

“Yeah.”

Ian nodded. “That’s…one of the reasons you called me, isn’t it.”

“I needed to hear from you, too. I needed to hear your voice. It’s been too long…”

Ian nodded again. “I…I understand…” _I know what that’s like. Do you know how soothing your own voice is?_ “Where are you now? How soon can I…can I see you?”

“I’m in the car with Jackie and Riley, we’re headed East to D.C. To Phil’s place. We got out of Rapid City ten minutes ago.”

“Riley’s there? How’d you get him away from Ben and Abigail?”

Shaw laughed. “You’ve got Jackie to thank for that one. You should see how he looks at her. Reminds me of when we first met.”

Ian smiled at the thought. “We’re going to need to find a new place to stay,” he said. “I’ll call you with details.”

“We’ll be in D.C. tomorrow morning.”

_Stay on the line with me. Talk to me. Tell me anything. Everything. Don’t let me lose you again. What if I wake up tomorrow and you’re not here? What if this was all just a dream? Let me dream forever, please, Shaw. Please._ “Let me hear you a little while longer, please,” he said softly.

“OK. OK. Whaddaya wanna hear, love? Anything.”

“Surprise me, Shaw.”


	18. 2015: Martin Odum Begins His Agonizing Quest; Shaw Finally Makes Contact

The first thing Martin did when he got to his new home was boot up his laptop and look up any and all records of the man named John Howe, attaching key words like “Ian” and “Sarah” to the search, as well to help narrow the search. Getting into a fast, unprotected network had come shockingly easy, and within fifteen minutes he was perusing the digitized public records of London, England, scanning his birth certificate… _his_. Newspaper clippings about the divorce, about the Molotov Cocktail he’d launched when he was a lad, newly declassified records indicating his being hired as a deep cover spy by MI6.

“ _Howe shows symptoms of mental illness which seem to lend themselves incredibly well to undercover work…_ ”

“ _Regular psychological evaluations recommended…_ ”

Visions started to flash across Martin’s mind, thundering through his neurons. He groaned and pressed his palms to his eyes. _It was such an unassuming office space…he knew he couldn’t trust her…she kept asking too many questions, about his family, about his father! She thought he’d been molested; no that wasn’t the truth…_

_He cried out, tilting his head back and leaning into the wall._

_“How does that make you feel?”_

_“Fuckin horrible, since you’re bloody asking!”_

…

_He liked his handler a lot more…What was his name? He always offered drinks, and never asked uncomfortable questions…_

_Conrad…Conrad helped him, helped train him._

_“You’re tough; you won’t see her saying that but you’re tough.”_

_“Thanks. You know I like you.”_

…

He threw his eyes open. He needed reality. His breathing was heavy. His hands fell to his lap, and the headache receded. But he knew he was onto something. Otherwise it wouldn’t hit him so hard. He tried to steady his breathing. It was true. He used to work for MI6; he was sick, probably still sick; even Conrad told him the truth, that they used to work together. Ian wasn’t lying, either. He was finally getting the answers he’d been looking for for months now. He felt dangerously close to the darkest of secrets—his own, Verax’s, even Six’s.

But he couldn’t give up now.

With a heavy breath, Martin lowered his gaze back to the computer screen, determined to learn everything he could.

***

“Diana Burnw—how did you get this number?”

“Oh thank _God_!” Shaw breathed. “I’ve been trying to reach 47 for _hours_!”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Shaw. Octagon Twenty-Six…I’m sometimes professional buddies with your agent. I can’t reach his phone, do you know what happened?”

“Only that he dropped it off the top of a skyscraper. I’m holding the remains of it right now.” _Why the hell would he—?_ “Can you hang on a second?” She turned away from the phone, and for a moment Shaw heard another man’s voice, something about violence in a different section of town. It wasn’t anywhere close, he knew that much as a certainty. The woman, Diana, thanked him and returned her attention to Shaw. “Apologies. We have a sighting of that agent you’re after.”

“He still in town?”

“Seems to be.”

“Do me a huge favor, track him down and call me back when you do, OK? I can pay cash.”

“Oh, well you’ve done this before.”

“Sorta. I do hits and protection myself, but I’m…attached.”

“I see. I can guarantee you you’ll hear from 47 by nightfall.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much…You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I was getting worried.”

Diana seemed to laugh a little. “You’re welcome,” she said. She hung up, and Shaw sighed with relief.

“We’ve got him!” he said to Ian.

“Fantastic,” Ian replied, resting his arms on Shaw’s shoulders and kissing him. “I’ve been getting in touch with Riley, Jackie, and Abigail, and working on a way to get to Ben without arousing suspicion.”

“We’re making progress. We can get to Verax within the week, I think.”

“Here’s hoping.” Ian settled back. “Who was that person you were talking to, if not 47?”

“His handler, woman named Diana Burnwood. Don’t ask how I found the number; it’s a trick I learned.”

“Octagon?”

“Yep. You always have to get in touch with a handler, any handler, especially in dire circumstances. That’s the rule behind the trick.” Ian nodded in understanding.

“It’s alright. We’re getting things done. That’s what matters.”

“Yep, it is,” Shaw said with a smile, and he kissed Ian again.


	19. 2015: Agents 47 And 90 Destroy A Weapons Shed

47 slid the car into the dusty parking lot of the old ramshackle shack that Katia had directed him to. It was perfectly inconspicuous, just the type of active weapons warehouse that the ICA would definitely employ. Katia threw open the passenger side door at the first available opportunity and rushed inside, 47 at her heels. She heard John Smith’s car pull up just as she reached the trapdoor to the basement and weapons cellar. 47 pulled the trapdoor closed after them. “What are you looking for, Katia?” he asked.

“Explosives,” she replied. “Clearly bullets don’t work on him.”

“You adapt, that’s very good. That will serve you well.”

“Thank you.” She moved through the maze of armaments, one hand resting on the shelves at shoulder height. 47 was two steps behind her exactly. Katia’s sense of hearing took in the maze, the entire weapons cellar, and she could even locate what she was looking for and lead 47 through with confidence. There was more to super-heightened sight and hearing than surviving and combat. “Here we are,” she said after several seconds. Smith had busted down the door by then and was casing the shack for them, cussing a variety of interesting-sounding obscenities, most of them derivatives of “fuck”. “Every grenade you could want, more C4 than you can shake a stick at, and, for the old-school, every stick of TNT in the hemisphere.”

“Well done, Katia. What’s your plan?”

“Throw everything at the wall and see what sticks.” 47 started grabbing sticks of TNT and matches. Katia went for grenades. Smith had spotted a hollow spot in the floor and was tapping it now. “Stairwell. Now,” Katia whispered harshly, leading 47 back through the maze. She reached it first, tore the ring off of a grenade and chucked it through the opening just as John Smith had opened it. He scrambled away as it clattered against the floor, and a second later, in a flash of brilliant light and sound and sheer motion it shredded the shack. Katia ducked away from the trapdoor, and 47 reached out to her.

“Katia!” he shouted, fighting to be heard. When the explosion died down, his voice softened. “Katia, are you alright?” Katia nodded. Her ears buzzed but were recovering quickly. “Stay here,” he said, and he moved to the trapdoor and the remains of the shack. Katia listened after him, for signs of life but more specifically for signs of anyone who could hurt him. She noticed he’d left behind the TNT and matches, and she set the rest of her grenades next to the stash while 47 walked across the floor to where John’s body had been blown. It was too good to be true; he couldn’t be dead.

She listened some more, and found it came easier. Maybe once she was finally, fully off the medication she wouldn’t be able to make it stop. Her eyes went to the trapdoor, and she eased her way up the staircase. Another two cars were approaching. _Shit! Smith has more friends?_ If she focused, she thought she could hear Smith’s heart still beating.

_Shit! 47’s too close to him!_

She crept onto the remains of the shack floor and looked around, keeping low though “out of sight” was an unreasonable expectation given that the shack had been all but completely leveled by the explosion. She spotted 47 and Smith in what counted for a front yard, and the cars were just pulling up. Katia considered ducking back in the hole left by the trapdoor, but even if her good reasons for doing so were mounting by the second, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Smith was still out cold, people were piling out of the cars, shouting at them to stay still. They weren’t Smith’s friends, she could tell that much.

47 held his hands up and backed away from Smith’s unconscious body. That was some good news. Katia scanned the new arrivals: there were seven in all, six men in armor and training rifles on them, 47 especially, and one woman in a tasteful suit and shallow heels. “47,” she said. The men lowered their weapons; and oddly, she seemed relieved. “I knew you were still alive.”

“Diana,” 47 said.

“Diana?” Katia asked softly.

47 looked at her, indicating that he’d heard. The other men caught this gesture and turned their guns on her. “No,” 47 said. “She’s safe.”

“Are you sure?” Diana asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

Diana walked toward her, and Katia watched her carefully. “You must be Katia Van Dees.”

“I am,” Katia replied.

“That was kind of you, covering 48 with your coat.”

“Thank you.”

She turned back to 47. “Someone’s been asking for you. Someone named Shaw? Claims to be from a facility named Octagon? Does this sound familiar?”

“I’ve heard of him, given him one of my phone numbers, but I don’t know how he got yours.”

“I don’t know that either, but he has a job for you, and he says he’s willing to pay in cash.”

“Um, guys, are we sure talking shop in front of the unconscious guy who could wake up at any moment and try to kill us is a good idea?” Katia asked. Diana and 47 both looked at her, shocked.

“He’s not dead?” 47 asked. Katia shook her head. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Exactly how difficult is this man to kill?” Diana asked.

“Very,” Katia said. “We’ve shot him probably twenty times, electrocuted him, blown him up, one time he got hit by a truck…” Diana nodded slowly, considering this, and then she ordered two of the men to restrain him even though he was still out cold. She watched them carry John back to one of the two cars, and nodded, though she was well aware they didn’t need her permission to continue.

“Cash, you said?” 47 asked. “He’s done well for himself.”

“Or has a rich girlfriend,” Diana remarked. “He’s been trying to reach you for hours, he said.”

“This is urgent, then.”

“It sounds that way. He was incredibly relieved to reach me.”

47 nodded. “Hm.”

“He asked that I call him back the second I reach you.”

“Best do that then,” 47 said, lightly. Katia supposed this was as close to banter as the two probably got; 47 was incredibly closed off, she knew, and this Diana walked like she had a stick up her ass, but in a less severe way than Katia expected. But if she was relieved that 47 was alive, and they bantered like this, then Katia could only conclude that 47 saw her as trustworthy. She knew what a challenge that was, to win that kind of regard.

Diana nodded and smiled, and she grabbed her phone, tapped the screen, and held it to her ear, turning slightly to the side.


	20. 2015: Shaw Makes Progress; Ian Howe Declares His Intent

Shaw’s phone buzzed, and carefully he reached over and checked the number, before answering. “Hello?”

“Mr. …Shaw, is it?” Diana asked.

“Yeah. You find him?”

“I did. Normally I would book you an appointment and we would draw up a formal contract, but I understand this to be an urgent set of circumstances.”

“We can’t let this get any worse than it already is.”

“I understand. Now, what exactly is it you need done?”

“Man named Jason Shaw—no relation—runs a corporation named Verax. It’s a private military corporation that’s taken over pretty much the entire United States government, and it’s after my partner’s brother.”

“I see.”

“Don’t worry about the rest; we’re doing the rest of the dismantling work.”

“But you’re outsourcing this.”

“There are some things you know are gonna be spun against you in court, and you have to be careful.”

“I understand.”

“Is he the only one?”

Shaw thought a moment, glanced at Ian, and then said, “There’s a man named Spiller, who’s now FBI director; we have to get rid of him, as well.”

“I’ll look into them and pass the information on to 47. You should know we appreciate prompt payment.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you for contacting the International Contract Agency.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Diana hung up, and Shaw set the phone back on the coffee table. “Was that about Jason?” Ian asked.

“Yep. You can move forward with the plan.”

“How much do we owe?”

Shaw looked at him and shrugged. “Rough estimate? One-point-five mil, at least. This man’s expensive.”

Ian laughed. “Expensive? Hardly. My plane is expensive, Shaw. This is a…necessary expenditure. I’ll make sure you have the cash you need, don’t worry.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, get back here,” Ian said, and he pulled Shaw back into their cuddle.

***

Martin groaned, glancing at the laptop one more time. He’d closed it fifteen minutes ago seeking a break from the torrent of memories rushing back to him. He’d read every declassified record twice, and thought about contacting Conrad for the classified ones countless times. He’d read everything there was to find surrounding himself and his family, including his parents and now highly successful lawyer Sarah, who had yet to return his phone call. He wondered if there’d been any bad blood between them in a past that he still barely remembered.

Currently what he had to work with was a hodgepodge of images, primarily from his time at MI6, developing legends that already existed in his mind, training. His friendship with Conrad…

Thinking about the sheer volume gave him a headache. He had thirty to forty years of memories catching up to him all at once, no wonder he was having migraines. He needed something else to think about. So he felt around for his phone and dialed Ian’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s…it’s me.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“My head hurts,” Martin confessed.

“Take a deep breath, it’ll be alright, it’ll come back to you in time.”

“It is, that’s part of the problem.”

“I see. How about you take a break from digging into your past, alright? Get some rest, talk to me, even.”

“Yeah. You making any progress on your big grand plan?”

“Yeah, actually, we are. I was hoping you’d call, because I wanted to fill you in.”

“Go on.”

“My partner, bless his heart, secured a hitman for Jason Shaw himself; we can take care of everyone else on our own, but there are some things you just need to outsource, or else it will all be traced back to you.”

“I see.”

“I’ve also reached out to some friends of mine, we’re waiting on word back from them.”

“So it’s not just a few assassinations you’re planning.”

“No. That won’t be enough. Martin, you need to understand. Verax isn’t a company or even a corporation anymore. It’s a Lovecraftian creature. It needs to be wholly destroyed, piece by piece. I have friends who can funnel out all their money, leak all their documents. Totally destroy any chance of Verax being rebuilt again.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“It has to. You don’t know this, but Verax has left a thick, long trail in the lives of my family and, by extension, myself. If I fail, then it means any corporation or entity that wants a piece of me can swoop in and take it without consequences. This is beyond a point of pride. This is a point of self. I built my criminal empire on my own, it’s my life’s work. I refuse to allow it to be dismantled by a…by a…”

“Leviathan,” Martin said.

“Exactly. Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

“My point is this monster can’t run roughshod over anything else anymore, and I promise you and myself that we are going to put a stop to it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Martin could hear in Ian’s voice that he was smiling. “Do us both a favor and try to get some sleep, alright?”

“Alright.” Martin hung up and lay back on the mattress, closing his eyes and exhaling heavily. Perhaps some sleep was in order, after all.


	21. 2007: Ian And His Crew Develop Their Plan Of Attack

Shaw had taken over driving duties when Jackie was too tired to make the last leg to Washington, D.C., and with her curled up in the passenger seat and Riley as stretched out as possible in the back seat, he navigated into the parking lot of a fairly out-of-the-way structure that looked like an apartment complex, or an office building. One other car was parked in the lot; Shaw recognized it as Phil’s. He parked three spaces separate from it, facing the same direction, and shook Jackie and Riley awake. “Are we there yet?” Riley asked groggily.

“Yeah, we’re here,” Shaw replied. “C’mon,” he said, climbing out of the car. Jackie followed, and Riley emerged last. The three of them walked to the front door and slipped inside; Jackie could swear she could hear a pin drop. Shaw walked confidently and led them to a meeting room in the back of the building.

Jackie watched Ian’s reaction; his shocked face and how he slowly uncrossed his legs and stood, approaching the door. She looked at Shaw, who seemed equally transfixed by Ian. Carefully, she stepped back to where Riley stood.

The second Shaw opened the door to the meeting room Ian threw his arms around his neck. Shaw held him close and swayed a little bit, and Ian buried his face in between Shaw’s neck and his shoulder.

Jackie watched Phil, Powell, and Victor, all three equally dumbstruck at seeing their thought-fallen comrade-in-arms again. Gingerly Shaw unwrapped Ian and turned to them. “Hey, mates,” he said softly. Jackie nodded to Riley, and they followed Shaw into the meeting room. Shaw, without prompting, regaled them with a shockingly horrific tale covering the gamut of science fiction: human cloning, strange compounds that could induce obedience, custom-programmed weapons only the clones could use, this tale had it all, except possibly James Bond, or Captain Kirk.

When he finished, Jackie let out a long, impressed whistle and settled back in the chair. To what would’ve been her surprise had she not been completely numbed to the sensation by Shaw’s tale, Victor and Powell laughed. Even Ian chuckled a little. Laughter had tremendous magical power indeed.

“So,” Victor said after a moment. “What do we do now?”

Shaw took a deep breath. “The people we need to worry about are the legion of guards, scientists, and others that are _attached_ to the clones. The clones themselves are safe persons, they’re non-hostile, but the others, the guys in charge of keeping them in line, those are the dangerous ones. They’ve got something to lose if the clones disappear, or escape. Like I did.”

Ian nodded, considering this. “How many?”

“Roughly two thousand,” Jackie said.

“Highly trained I take it?”

“Very,” Shaw said. “They have to be to deal with us.” He laughed a little. “But in all seriousness, this group of two thousand is crazy dangerous; they’re the ones that have to be taken out, don’t hit the clones if you can help it.”

Ian nodded. “What about the funding? The higher ups? Is there a board of directors? Who are the sponsors?”

“There’s someone who pays for the vast majority of the funding the projects need, and a few lead scientists, but that’s about it. No board or anything like that.”

“I see. You know who’s funding everything?”

“No.”

“So we need to find that out.” He leaned forward, reaching for a pen and a legal pad he must’ve picked up from Phil’s place or his own on the way over. He scribbled something down. “What else…?” he asked himself, tapping the pen lightly against his lip. He jotted down something else and then straightened and looked up at Shaw. “Anybody else to watch?”

“We have to gain control of the drugs, all of them. We control the drugs, we make sure the clones are sober for the war.”

Ian nodded, and he made a notation of this. “What else do we need to know?”

Shaw thought a moment, looking up at the ceiling and blinking a few times. “That’s it,” he said, looking back at Ian. “Sober clones are on our side, I can guarantee it.”

“Noted,” Ian said, and indeed he wrote it down. “Remind me the address again?” he asked. Shaw did so, and Ian scribbled that down, as well. “Alright, that’s everything I need to know.”

“For this, at least,” Jackie said. “After all didn’t you guys _break out of prison_?”

“Yeah, she’s right. You guys probably have your own _satellite_ by now,” Riley added. “Like, I appreciate your balls, but still. You gotta be practical here.”

“You’re right, Riley,” Ian said, leaning back. “We do need to be practical. We need to be careful. Taking down Octagon is a completely different matter than any potential exoneration we might face, and there’s also the chance that we’ve just dug deeper holes for ourselves.”

Jackie glanced at Riley, took in his shocked expression, and realized it would take a while before he was used to people listening to his opinions. She looked back to her cousin and his crew. “I need to take you across state lines,” she said.

“What?” Riley asked, as if suddenly jolted into reality. “You wanna make this even _worse_?”

“I want to keep them safe, and I know this sounds impulsive, but it’s the only way to do it. I know a few places where I can keep them that no one will ever, _ever_ look for them.”

“Are you…are you _sure_?”

“Yes, Riley. I’m sure.”

“You must know some heavy duty safe houses,” Victor said.

“They used to be. They’re still listed as such.”

“Don’t ask how she knows that,” Shaw said to the group at large. “Trust me, the less we know about each other’s exploits, the better if or when we all get caught.”

“I’ll find you guys a place, you guys plan for Octagon,” Jackie said. “If it doesn’t get us the results we want, we’ll find another place.”

“And another and another and—”

“No, just one. Nobody in their right minds is going within twenty-five miles of _these_ safe houses for fear of the repercussions.”

“OK, I think that settles it,” Phil said. “I think,” he added.

“His hearing’s still a little shot,” Ian explained to Jackie. “Getting better, but still a little shot.”

Phil smirked at Ian’s pun, and Victor and Powell each gave self-depreciating smiles. Jackie smiled. “Good to have you guys back,” she said.


	22. 2001: Katia Van Dees Learns Of Berlin And <i>Fenya</i>

Katia walked up to the payphone, looked around, and inserted a couple of euros before dialing the number she’d found connected to the name Dmitry had given her. The phone rang twice before the answer came. “Vasily’s Storage Service, how can I help you?”

“Hi,” Katia said. “My name’s Katia. I’m calling about a man who has a storage unit with you.”

Instantly Vasily shut down. “Unless you are related to him I can tell you nothing.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I don’t even know his name!” She took a deep breath, trying to regain her cool before she attracted undue attention. “Listen. I have his picture. He’s got dark hair, looked like he was, say, thirty or so in the picture so he’d be in his forties now… He was looking up at the camera, a bit like he knew he was being watched. I need a time I can come up and show it to you and maybe you can tell me who he is, or where he’s gone. Something. Anything.”

“So it is the man you are after?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s certainly an unusual turn of events.” She heard him lean back in his chair, his pen fall to his desk. “He never gave me his name. And I can’t give you the key to the unit, at least until I’ve seen your face a few times.” Katia recognized the tact, and mentally applauded him for it. “But this man you speak of, I believe I know him. He’s a Slav, like me!” Vasily laughed a little. “Fairly tall gentleman, no?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I know him. I believe he said he was going to Berlin last I saw of him.” Katia broke into a grin, just as an operator instructed her to either pay up or shut up. Katia inserted another euro.

“Sorry,” she said. “Payphone.”

“Ah.” Vasily laughed again. “Go to Berlin,” he said, all seriousness now, “and perhaps you will find him.”

“Thank you.” Katia bid farewell and hung up. She stepped out of the phone book and looked around, making sure no one around was going to hurt her, and she walked across the street toward the restaurant; she was supposed to meet Dmitry in half an hour. It’d be close but she was sure she’d make it.

***

The open patio area of the restaurant was fairly quiet; Katia guessed that was because of the four Russians she was meeting for brunch that day. She took them in as she sipped her ice water; three men named Aleksey, Yevgeny, and Vladislav who looked just as sturdy and willing to beat someone to a bloody, broken pulp as Dmitry had proven himself to be. The four of them had been talking shop—in _fenya_ as per Dmitry’s request—over brunch for an hour and a half, while Katia listened and occasionally nibbled her salad or sipped her water. Every syllable broke apart in Katia’s mind to its bare bones, swirled around as more syllables came in and accommodated them, until she could piece together the words, and the sentences, until basic structures of this fundamentally and purposefully broken Russian dialect revealed themselves to her. Its connections to normative Russian and its deviations and connections to other languages had all made themselves apparent in her mind. With a bit of a shock she realized exactly what they were talking about.

“Why sell fake parts?” she asked. Dmitry’s three companions looked at her in shock. “Shouldn’t your front be any good at doing what it says it’s going to do? At least with enough frequency to keep people from asking questions.”

Aleksey looked at Dmitry. “Where did you _find_ this girl?” he asked in awe, gesturing to her.

“She found me,” Dmitry replied. “She believes I can help her find someone.” He looked at Katia. “Have you reached him, by the way?” She nodded. “What did he say?”

“Berlin.” Dmitry nodded slowly, considering this.

“Good,” he said after a moment. “If you need it I can secure you passage.”

“ _Spasibo._ ”

Dmitry’s three companions whispered feverishly back and forth amongst themselves about the anomaly that had joined them for brunch that morning. Katia sipped some more water and scanned the few people in the patio area with them. All five of them were making a point of being incredibly interested in their food, and even in the interior of the restaurant only a few people dared to look up at their little party. _They’re not taking me_ , Katia wanted to assure them. _They’re not going to sell me to anyone. See? They like me._

But then, she could easily see how that fact alone could scare some people. What was the saying? That you never wanted a gangster to like you? Or did she make that one up as one of her great many rules for going through this world? Either way she’d broken the rule. A gangster liked her. And it seemed his friends liked her, too, even if they were awe-struck by her. She shifted a little, wondering if that itself had any value, what she could do. She reached for some ice water, took a healthy gulp, and met the gaze of an investigator. He watched her with sympathy. Her eyes went to his partner, who was working a cigarette and looking at something on the table, possibly the menu. After a moment Katia looked away. Dmitry was flirting with a waitress, and Katia narrowed her eyes at the woman for a moment before looking away and sipping some water. The conversation continued as if nothing had happened, and Katia filed her observations away for future consideration.


	23. 2015: Katia And 47 Set Off Toward Their Target

Katia glanced at the ticket 47 handed her as they walked toward the gate; Diana made sure security didn’t give them any trouble, for which Katia especially couldn’t be more grateful. Her eyes went to the board of flights, checking for delays or cancelations. It had been a strange pair of coincidences that led her to this point. Her friend from Prague, who’d turned out after some time getting to know him in character, to be a British spy with a brother who had strong standing in the criminal underground. And now this assignment came up. Katia was starting to develop a sneaking suspicion that the two were somehow connected, but she’d need more proof before she could be sure.

She glanced at Diana, who seemed only to be here to see them off. _“Diana says hello.” “…one version better…” “…48…”_ But…she’d seemed so relieved 47 was alive…There was something else going on, Katia was sure of it. But something told her trying to figure it out would lead to trouble. That was the last thing she needed. She sat next to 47 and thus across from Diana. “Do…” she cleared her throat and started again. “Do you have your own flight back, then?”

“I have other places I need to be,” Diana replied. Katia simply nodded in response.

47 glanced at her, and then looked at Diana. “48 mentioned you,” he said to her.

“Did he now?”

“Right before we killed him.”

Diana nodded, taking this in. Then she turned to Katia. “Do you require reassurance that I do _not_ want you dead, and that I’m simply doing my job?”

_That’s what it is,_ Katia realized. She had a higher-up who _did_ want them out of the way. She answered to that someone, and that was where the hook in the fish came from. “I…I think I understand,” she said. It was true in more senses than one.

Diana looked to 47. “Until this blows over, Management thinks you’re dead, and I intend to let it stay that way.” 47 simply nodded. “As for you and your sister, I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you,” 47 said.

“Thanks,” Katia whispered.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Diana gave a farewell nod to them both, stood, and walked down the terminal. Katia watched her for a long moment, gradually settling herself back down.

“Are you alright?” 47 asked her.

“Something about the people you work for feels incredibly off-kilter,” Katia replied in a low whisper. “I’m not worried about Diana specifically, I think she’s a pawn in a larger game. That part worries me.”

“Understandable. However, she has given no reason for them not to trust her, and to stay alive we need to keep it that way.”

“If you trust her, that’ll do for me. But if or when that changes, then I’ll be halfway out of Dodge. I’ll take you with me if it means saving your life, but if you want to go back, that’s your choice. I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He looked at his ticket. “What do you think of the manifest so far?”

“Nothing noticeable,” she replied. “Should be an uneventful flight.”

“That’s good. Maybe we can get some sleep.”

Right, Katia realized. 47 probably hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours, at least. “I’ll keep watch this time,” she said.

The call to board came over the loudspeaker in several languages, and, with Diana returned from wherever she went (presumably the women’s room) and smiling at them, the two of them stepped in line with everyone else queuing up for first class travel. At least Katia didn’t have to put up with the fat, slobbering sleepers on either side of her, the toddlers, or whatever else coach travelers brought with them that disrupted every flight ever for everyone else. _OK, I confess. Having the world’s best assassin for a brother has its perks._

They settled into their seats, a flight attendant asked them if they wanted beverages. Katia had a glass of water, 47 took nothing, instead closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. He seemed to be asleep at once.


	24. Interlude: 2015: The Threads Of Life Weave Together

“Shit,” Jackie hissed as she played Ian’s message for the third time; it took that long for the words to sink in.

“What?” Riley asked, looking at her from the swivel chair in front of his laptop.

Jackie sighed. “Ian called,” she explained, meeting his concerned gaze with one of tired anger. “Verax is back.”

“What happened?”

“Ian’s brother, John…he came back. He showed up in London, because Verax took over the US and they’re chasing him; he had to escape. He doesn’t remember before 2004…” She took a deep breath. “They framed him for killing the director of the FBI…Verax is _back_ , Ri.” She bowed her head, exhaling heavily.

Riley pulled himself to his feet and limped over to the sofa, sinking heavily on the cushion next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Here, let me have a listen.” Jackie re-entered her password and handed her phone to Riley. He listened for several moments, and allowed the words to sink in. He hung up and lay the phone on the coffee table. He pulled Jackie close and stroked her arm gently. “Sounds like Ian has a plan of attack,” he said. “It’s gonna be OK. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“I believe you,” Jackie said.

***

Abigail’s phone buzzed in her purse, and when she pulled it out, she noticed she had a new message: ‘Call back –I.’ She took a deep breath, and dialed Ian’s number. “Hello?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

“Dr. Chase,” Ian replied. “I require your assistance.”

“With…?”

“First of all we need to retrieve Ben.”

“Go on…”

***

Agent Sadusky had been parsing between leads for almost thirty-six hours straight, living on coffee alone for many of those hours. “So we have a few gentlemen in England who positively identified either Odum or Howe,” he said after a moment, looking up at Agent Spellman.

“Correct,” she replied.

“Any word on current whereabouts?”

“No, sir.”

“I see.” He tossed the file onto his desk and stood. “Go home, Spellman. Get some sleep. Hendricks will take over for you.”

Spellman nodded her thanks and walked out of the office. He followed her out of his office and wove through the cubicles, finally stopping behind their newest recruit, someone from Martin’s team named Maggie Harris. “Harris,” he said softly.

She started and looked up at him. “Oh, um…Sir, I…”

“Easy,” he said. He pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “How do you feel? Be honest.”

She looked at him, long and hard. “I’m scared for when you do find him. He’s going to die for this, even though he didn’t do it.” Sadusky raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been going over his ‘video confession’. There are anomalies in pixel alignment. Here, let me show you.” Sadusky stood, and Maggie walked him through a series of key frames, zooming in and pointing out spots where pixels were misaligned. “This is computer generated,” she said as a concluding statement.

“Great work, Harris.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘great work’. And I admire your initiative for going back over this. Tell ya what,” he said, and he sat back down again. “You find who did this, I’ll back you when the shit hits the fan, and believe me. Shit _will_ hit the fan.”

“You’re…you’re so…”

“Not every other person at the Bureau is out to hang high anyone who challenges the status quo. Follow this lead to wherever it ends. Figure out how it was made—”

“Oh. –I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“Go on?”

“I know how this was made. Other anomalies point to a hi-res image of Martin’s face scanned into a computer, and when he undoubtedly questioned what was happening they got a voice recording they manipulated to produce the final product—see, the lips don’t always match up with the words.” To prove it, she went through at one-quarter speed, with the audio on.

Sadusky sat back, considering this. Bless his heart, Spiller had gone home hours ago, so anyone who would’ve wanted to stop Maggie in her tracks was out of the picture. “Again, great work, Harris.”

“Th-thanks.”

“Keep working this, but only in your off hours. Remember, on the clock we’re _looking for_ Martin Odum and his brother.”

“He has a brother?”

“A twin. Man name of Ian Howe.”

“ _The_ Ian Howe? The _criminal_ Ian Howe?”

“The very same.”

Maggie sat back in her chair. “Wow,” she said, to no one in particular.

“You’re not working that case, Harris. You’ve been deemed too close to it.”

“Well, yeah!” She took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, I understand.” He considered a moment. “If you wanna plow on the rest of tonight, be my guest. There’s fresh coffee in the break room. If you wanna go home, at any point, I understand.”

“Thanks.” She cracked an earnest smile, and Sadusky smiled back.

“Good luck, Harris.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sadusky smiled, stood, and patted her gently on the shoulder. “Office door is always open,” he said over her shoulder to her. Maggie grinned and laughed a little, and thanked him. Sadusky gave her a salute and walked into the break room for another cup of coffee.

***

Katia leaned against 47’s shoulder; her eyelids had grown heavy. She hadn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as she should have or hoped to have on the car ride. 47 stirred a little bit but did not wake. “It’s OK,” she whispered. “Everything’s fine.” _Nothing’s going to happen. Everything’s going to be fine…_

Nothing tripped her internal radar, and gradually she lulled into sleep.


	25. 2015: Katia Meets Another Brother

Katia took a deep breath of the London air, tinged heavily with car exhaust and tepid water off the Thames. When she opened her eyes again she took in the mental image of the city. A few low-level hostiles had gotten off a separate flight and were working their way through the city, looking for someone. “They’re already here,” she said to 47.

“Wait for our target,” 47 replied. “Whatever he wants, if it’s here and he wants it enough, he’ll follow in due time.”

“Roger. There’s a reasonably priced hotel three blocks from here. We can hole up there for now.”

“You see? You’re getting better.”

Katia stared at him. Her mind stopped. _Did he just say what I…I thought he just said?_ “Th-thanks,” she said. 47 said nothing; Katia expected nothing less from him, oddly enough. She led 47 down the street to the hotel in question and let him book their room. He asked where all the exits were, which rooms were close to fire escapes, even which were non-smoking. After a full round of this, he finally booked what he deemed an acceptable room for them, and when he walked back to her he handed one of the key cards to her.

Katia followed 47 to the elevator and leaned against the railing as he pressed the button for their floor. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and listened. There were still the few hostiles, with perhaps another plane carrying several more coming in over the next day or two. The whir of the elevator’s ascent was comforting white noise to her.

She opened her eyes slowly just before the elevator reached their floor. 47 led them down the hallway to the door to their room and keyed them in. Katia took the bed closest to the window; she caught herself glancing at 47 to gauge his reaction. There was none. He rested his guns on the table next to the bed nearest the door. She sat on the bed and looked out the window. Once the noose was in place, they’d start tightening. Katia didn’t want to be caught in the middle when that happened, so they had to act quickly. Once Jason Shaw arrived, he’d have to be taken out, possibly before he’d even left the airport terminal. Then they could turn their attention to Spiller.

She looked back at 47, shrugging off his jacket and checking his knives. He seemed to have ditched the one Smith had broken the tip off of, and a good thing, too, because that thing had been rendered virtually useless. Perhaps it could’ve been a pretty punk paperweight, but nothing more. After a few moments, 47 looked at Katia expectantly. “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. He nodded and returned to his work. She looked away, and even examined the brief cable channel guide for anything good to watch. She set the guide back down and lay backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Rest, Katia. Or perhaps check out the pool. Trust me, there’s nothing to think about until Jason Shaw gets here.” Katia looked at him, and he nodded reassuringly. She nodded back, sat up, and finally stood and walked toward the door.

“I won’t let anything happen to me,” she said. “Promise.”

“I know you won’t.”

Katia simply nodded, checked her pocket for the key, and slipped out of the hotel room. The hall was blissfully silent; Katia remembered this being one of 47’s conditions for the room in the first place. He thought of everything, and Katia couldn’t help but be impressed. She walked evenly down the hall toward one of the stairwells, making careful mental note of the surveillance cameras, one at each end of the hall facing the opposite end, and one in front of the elevator. Surely they would’ve caught her and 47 entering their room earlier…Katia shook her head. 47 was too clever for that, and the current people who wanted to catch him and kill him were all dead, except John Smith who was in the custody of Diana and her friends. She needed a way to kill him. On the short list of options were drowning and the oral administration of poison. Both of them required getting close enough, and she doubted he’d allow that, unless she could talk her brother into distracting him for her…

She listened around her one more time, taking in the silence of the floor and the sounds of the city beyond. The next flight bearing Verax hostiles hadn’t reached airspace yet, and that was good. The ones that were in London had fanned out. The holes between them were too big; their target could slip through incredibly easily and no one would know. Katia stopped herself from faulting them for it; after all, they were normal humans, and they were just following orders, and they were just as error prone as any other normal human. It had gotten them this far in life, and Katia had to give them that, considering all the dangers in the world.

Katia stepped into the stairwell and started downward, keeping regular but not constant track of people around her, and eventually stepped out into the first floor hallway. On her right was the entryway to the pool, on her left the hallway led to the lobby, and only a few feet from directly in front of her was the breakfast and tea area. Katia shrugged. Why not? She walked inside and picked up a muffin from the rack, and she started scanning around for the safest table.

She sat, facing the entrance, kept her back close to the pillar, and started nibbling at the top of the muffin. The few people in the room with her were engaged in small talk with each other or reading the paper with their coffee, none seemed interested in her. Katia accepted this quietly, and indeed it helped settle her nerves. She leaned over the table at a particularly crumbly bite and checked the entrance way again. So far nothing. _Good._

It allowed her some time to think, about Dr. Litvenko, about 47, about Diana, about Jason Shaw and Verax and the job they had to do as part of a much bigger effort requiring much more manpower than they were even called on to replicate. She even thought about her own powers, what she felt 47 wanted them to be versus what they actually were, what they’d been her whole life. Was it the pills that kept them where they were? Was he right? What if she just…let them _be_?

The plane was early.

When it touched down she’d know who was on it, if it was worth noting or not, but she had a bad sinking feeling.

Maybe Jason Shaw was unsatisfied with the results from the team he’d originally sent. Did he know about the massive gaps between them that could let someone slip through? Surely it should’ve been obvious to more than just her that only a handful of men sweeping a big city weren’t going to turn up very much of use. But if he was going to blow his top over something like that then the fault lay squarely on his sorry ass.

She took another bite of the muffin and pushed all speculation from her mind. There would be time for that when it came time to lay out a plan and carry it out. She tried to think she wasn’t just contracted to kill a man, no matter who he was, but that thought lingered somewhere in the back of her mind and deeply unsettled her. 47 did this for a living, and that was alright by her. He could do that until the cows came home. But involving her…

_He involved you back in Singapore. You never got off the ride. You were his diversion, remember?_

Katia sighed. The voices in her head were right. She’d been helping him in his job for days now and only barely realized it. What good were her heightened senses if they couldn’t pick up on that?

For that matter, what good were they if they couldn’t locate the doctor before either Syndicate or 47 could and then take him away somewhere safe? Her abilities were to keep her safe, surely she could’ve used them to keep him safe as well, as soon as she found him. So why didn’t she?

Why couldn’t she?

Katia was sure she seemed like a sullen mess over her half-eaten muffin but she didn’t really care. Once she had time to slow it all down these questions popped up, and everything weighed on her. So she nibbled on bites of the muffin and let her thoughts stew together, break apart, reform, again and again in her mind until something useful came of them, or until she was sick of the whole process and moved on to something else.

Suddenly the whole building fell quiet. Slowly, Katia set the muffin down, as if by doing so too quickly she’d give away her position, or set off an explosion, or both. While grateful for the relief from her depressing, burdensome thoughts, she knew only one thing could cause this feeling. After all, she’d felt it before.

She assessed her options—she was right near a window, she could escape if she needed to, and the stairs were right there; they were the surest route to her brother, the man was coming in from her right, from the lobby. She listened to his footsteps, the rustle of the fabric of his suit. Already she knew he was an Agent. He was a clone. He was a brother. Except he wouldn’t take too kindly to that idea once it was presented to him. She stood carefully and moved quietly to the entrance, ducking just out of sight and waiting for him to approach. He walked easily, slowly, as if looking for someone and trying to avoid notice. Did he know he’d been noticed? She could feel that her action had clued others in the room into the fact that someone was there who meant harm, and one had ducked under the table. Another, by his jacket a World War Two vet, just continued with his paper and coffee. Hopefully it wouldn’t turn into a situation that triggered his war sickness.

The intruder stopped in front of the entrance, turning from the pool, to the stairs, and finally to the entrance of the breakfast area. His ice blue eyes scanned the tables, and he walked into the area. Katia tracked him with her eyes, and she got a good look at his barcode. Apparently this was number 32. Fifteen versions older than 47, and therefore fifty-eight versions older than her. Katia watched him turn slowly, scanning everyone in the breakfast room. She slipped to the other side of the entrance and then in front of the counter, keeping carefully out of his line of sight. His eyes landed on the vet, who by that time had been studying him intently for several seconds. “You need help with something?” the man asked.

“Yes.” 32 approached the vet. “I’m looking for a man named, among other things, Lincoln Dittmann, Dante Auerbach, Dmitry Petrov, and Sebastian Egan.”

“I don’t recognize any of those names.”

But Katia did. Carefully she slipped a meat knife out of the block next to the slices of breakfast ham and crept slowly toward 32. She sank deep into her stance and took aim with the knife before chucking it right at that clean, crisp barcode of his.

32 must’ve heard the whistle, because in a second he wheeled around and caught the knife millimeters from his eye. “You know some knives aren’t made for throwing, don’t you, Katia?”

Katia stood shakily and reached for another knife. She wasn’t going down without a fight. “How did you know my name?”

“We’ve had our eyes on you for a long time, Miss Van Dees. Ever since Prague.”

“That was _you_?”

“Yes, and you’d do well to keep your voice down. You’re attracting far too much attention.”

Katia, for perhaps the first time she could remember, felt something other than fear or anger, or even any other emotion. No, what bubbled up from her center was something different entirely. “ _No!_ ” she growled, and she rushed forward, intending to thrust the knife deep into 32’s chest. He backed up, blocking her hand and aiming for her neck. She struck his hand, forcing him to drop the knife, and she thrust again. She drove it deep, up under his sternum into his heart. She found she lifted him off his feet. Blood flowed onto her hand. Finally she felt his heart stop beating, and she dropped him and staggered back. Her eyes went to the vet, who pulled himself to his feet and just stared in shock at her. “Give me ten minutes,” she said, hunching over, holding up her hands as she backed up, and then she ran to the stairs, taking them three at a time until she reached the ninth floor.

She pounded on the door with her clean hand, and 47 jerked the door open. His expression shifted in milliseconds when he took her in, but she cut him off at the start. “Something…downstairs…now!” she said through heavy breathing. “He’s gonna call the cops!”

47 slipped out past her and went to the stairwell. Katia slipped into the room and started washing her hand off. They had to find a new place, she was sure of it, and that task would fall to her because she fucked shit up.


	26. 2015: The Art Of Removing The Body

Three flights down, 47 realized Katia didn’t join him. Five flights down, he figured she was packing for the inevitable move they’d have to make. When 47 reached the breakfast room, he spotted the body at once, and the veteran sitting in his chair staring at it. After some time he raised his eyes to 47. 47 pulled a folded up body bag from his breast pocket, shook it out, and tucked the dead clone’s body into it. He slung it over his shoulder effortlessly and walked to the stairs without a word to the vet. He pitied him, somewhere deep inside with the rest of his small pool of humanity, and made his way back up to the ninth floor.

Katia had just set a briefcase on the floor next to the door and looked up at him. “I fucked up,” she said.

“Tell me what happened, and we’ll be able to assess the truth of that statement,” 47 replied.

“I…It…I…does…does it always feel like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like…like _nothing_. Not like I don’t feel anything, but like emotions don’t matter, they’re secondary.”

47 considered her a moment. “I see,” he finally said. “How did you reach that point?”

“I just wanted to eat my muffin, OK? Then he shows up asking for the legends. He’s been contracted by Verax.” Her thoughts were going a million miles an hour in a big tangled mess until finally she pulled them together. “He’d heard of me…th-there was an Agent in Prague…”

“Continue.”

“He asked the vet after gentlemen named Lincoln Dittmann, Dante Auerbach, Dmitry Petrov, Sebastian Egan. Dmitry Petrov is the only legend I recognize, but I know he’s a cover for a spy named John Howe, works for MI6. I…I had this feeling I had to stop him, so I grabbed a kitchen knife and threw it at him. Not the best choice, I know, I know. He must’ve heard it, he turned and caught it, and I grabbed another knife. He was…talking. He said I should ‘keep my mouth shut and behave myself.’ That’s when emotion stopped mattering, and I stabbed him. It took two tries, but I did it. I killed him.”

“You had blood on your hand, and you washed it off.” Katia nodded. 47 watched her a moment. She seemed so terrified, of what he thought of her, perhaps even what she’d felt when she killed, as well. He walked over, picked up the briefcase, and simply asked, “Where to next?”

Katia took a few deep breaths and straightened, closing her eyes. 47 watched her patiently. “In the heart of the city,” she said. “Near Trafalgar Square. We need to rent a car.” Her eyes opened. “Do you have an alias?”

“I have several,” 47 replied, turning toward the stairs. Katia slipped both key cards under the door and followed him.

“Katia,” he said after a moment, turning to face her on the seventh floor landing. “If you’re ever going to kill like that again, it’s your job to get rid of the body.”

Katia nodded. “Understood.”


	27. 2007: Jackie Leads Her Cousin's Crew To Safety

Jackie led their party, split between two vehicles, along a complex web of side streets and lesser-used interstate roads, operating off pure memory as she searched for an appropriate safe house for her cousin, his crew and even herself. Riley could leave any time he wanted to and forget this ever happened. She looked at him, struggling to sleep in the passenger seat. “Hey,” she whispered. “How’re you holding up?”

“Stellar,” he replied sarcastically; Jackie figured that was his stress response. “I mean look at it, the whole crew’s out of prison and back together and probably going to kill me for even _thinking_ about going out with you, so I guess I have to scratch ‘has a girlfriend’ off the list of things I accomplished with my life, and frankly, I hoped I’d never see Ian or Shaw or any of those guys ever again! They left us for dead under Trinity Church!”

“I know,” Jackie said sharply. She took a deep breath. “Sorry,” she added, more softly. “I know how you feel about Ian and his crew. You can leave this whenever you want and go back to Ben and Abi and help them with the next treasure hunt, whatever that is.”

“Really? You’ll let me leave?”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Oh.” He settled back in his seat a little.

“Listen, Ri. When we get to the safe house, if you wanna go back to South Dakota, I’ll drive you. If you wanna stay, I’ll let you. But there’s something I need you to understand. From here on, we all have big giant targets on our backs. We’re in danger. And we’re using this safe house without permission from the people it belongs to. We’ll be in trouble with them, as well. Our lives are in danger. If you stay, you’re gonna have to take that. Can you?”

“Do you know what’s in Mount Rushmore? Leading to the City of Gold? Death traps. I lived through all those just fine. Was terrified the whole time, but I lived.”

“So you can take it.”

“Yes!”

Jackie nodded. “OK. OK. If that changes you just let me know and I’ll try to keep you out of the worst of it, OK?”

“OK. Thanks.”

“Yeah, not a problem.” Jackie glanced in her rearview mirror at the car that carried the newly-reunited crew behind them, following their trail. “Listen to me, alright? We’re gonna get this whole mess resolved one way or the other. For now my job is just to get everyone somewhere safe so we can move forward.”

“OK.”

***

Phil watched Victor watching Jackie’s taillights. It was amazing how easily the crew settled back into their usual arrangement—Ian in the back, sandwiched between Powell and Shaw while Phil and Victor took the front seats—after two and a half, almost three years. It was like nothing had happened, like Ben didn’t set them up and send them all to prison, like Shaw didn’t fall and nearly die, like they weren’t now fugitives from justice and prison escapees. Like everything didn’t just fall to shit and they were scrambling to pull something resembling sanity out of the rubble.

He looked at Ian and Shaw, huddling together and sound asleep. He thought about where Shaw must’ve been, what he must’ve been doing since he was recovered. He thought about Octagon, some faceless night stalker of an entity that engaged in human experimentation and wanted Shaw back as if he was some sort of reacquisition, and not an actual person.

Not one of the two people that held their crew together.

Ian shifted in his sleep, and almost unconsciously Shaw’s arms tightened around him. Phil remembered every time he’d caught Ian and Shaw almost exactly like this, holding each other or touching each other innocuously and pretending no one saw anything. The sweet kisses and whispered “I love you”s they thought no one heard but them.

If the world allowed Octagon to exist—if _they_ allowed Octagon to exist—that world where they could be happy again may as well have just kissed Phil goodbye right on the mouth. He sighed heavily and assessed their odds, the way Ian would have: on their side were two geniuses with tech, four experienced fighters, and a brilliant strategist and tactician. On Octagon’s side were human clones they could manipulate with chemicals—Phil and Powell could take care of the chemical supply and shut down what sounded like Octagon’s best asset. That left like two thousand other people who’d be incredibly pissed off with them. _That_ sounded like fun.

He closed his eyes and settled into the seat, hoping for a little shut-eye…


	28. 2001: Dmitry Petrovich Bargains For A Man's Freedom

Dmitry gave the files inside the briefcase one final check and closed it, listening to the lock click into place with a small, satisfied sigh. He opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you are not expecting flashy fireworks,” he said, before turning to fully face his guests.

“Good try, Howe, but we need to talk about your tactics,” one of the two men said.

“That is how I do business.”

“That’s how thugs do business. Howe, we need Luhanskiy, not another spy turned criminal by the legend.”

“Luhanskiy I will give to you in time, just be patient.”

“We don’t have time for patience! He’s plotting a terrorist attack!”

Dmitry turned, and pointed a gun right into the man’s face. “Enough,” he said tersely. “You do _not_ tell me how to do my job. I will get you Luhanskiy! That is all you need to worry about.”

The man paled, staring down the barrel of Dmitry’s weapon, and simply nodded. After a moment, Dmitry lowered it and looked at the man’s companion. “Conrad,” he said simply. “My friend speaks highly of you.”

“Dammit, the mate’s already lost,” Conrad muttered.

“Rest easily Conrad. I will surrender him in time.” He looked at the first man. “Consider Luhanskiy yours, but let me do it my way. Understood?” The man nodded. “ _Svali_ , Howard.” _Get lost._

Howard stared in shock for several moments, then turned straight on his heel and walked out the front door. Conrad turned to follow. “Stay, please. I’d like to offer you a drink,” Dmitry said. Conrad stopped, and looked tentatively over his shoulder. “It’s all right…”

Finally Conrad turned and walked back toward the cluttered desk. Dmitry set his weapon on top of a stack of papers and sat in the chair, reaching for a bottle of fine vodka and two shot glasses. “L-listen, Howe…”

“Dmitry, please. Howe is…elsewhere.”

“OK that’s it, you’re getting a psych eval when you get back.”

Dmitry paused and cocked his eyebrow. “I thought we were…necessary, useful even. I thought we had worth.”

“Listen to me, mate. These…legends…they’re already alternate personalities. If you’re not careful they could…”

“Take over my life? I thought that was the point. Become an entirely different person, and infiltrate various organizations as per the specific legend. That is how I am a spy, is it not? That’s what you want, _da_?”

“John…This is out of control. You’re…slipping.”

“I am here to protect him!” Dmitry shouted suddenly. “We all are!” He exhaled, and settled back, watching Conrad. “Forgive me. I am…defensive of my role, my…position. My purpose.”

Conrad simply sat for a moment, eyes wider now, but his expression shifting into a sort of acceptance. A sort of deranged, ‘I couldn’t help if I tried’ sort of acceptance. An acceptance of his fate, and Dmitry’s stubbornness. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Dmitry smiled, nodding appreciatively. “My friend is blessed to have good friends like you, and staunch allies like his brother.” He poured out a round for them both and lifted his glass. “To good friends and staunch allies.”

Conrad lifted his glass in turn. “To good friends and staunch allies,” he replied with a smile. They drank from their glasses, and Conrad settled back on his heels, one hand in his pocket as he let the drink roll over his tongue. He exhaled when he swallowed.

“You like?” Dmitry asked with a smile.

“It’s good,” Conrad agreed. “This legend does well.”

“ _Spasibo._ ” Dmitry took another sip of vodka and sank into the desk chair. “Now, I think we need to talk about the…ah…side mission.”

“Dr. Litvenko.”

“Correct.”

“You backin’ out?”

Dmitry paused just a moment, then shook his head. “I want all of you to back out. Forget the mission even existed.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Yes you can. And you will.”

Conrad couldn’t help but scoff. “Yeah? And what makes you so sure?”

“There’s a girl looking for him. If you don’t back down, I’ll tell her everything.”

Conrad blanched, and his face fell. “Don’t you dare, Howe!” he hissed. “Don’t you dare. You can’t just…jeopardize everything like that! How could you think of it?”

Dmitry smirked. “I’m a gangster! The only rules I need to follow are my own.”

_Shit,_ Conrad thought. _He really does see himself as distinct from John. Damn this is gonna be way too hard to explain to management._

“But I can tell this means something to you,” Dmitry continued. “If you don’t want me to tell her, you talk them into calling off the mission.”

“Why? What he knows…it’s too dangerous to just…let out in the world!”

“He has already hidden himself, and she is ignorant of what he’s done. Besides if my math is correct he is fifty-eight, with rheumatism. Where will he go? He has no interest in sharing his secrets, as no other agent programs have been successful, so he is likely to take that secret to his grave. Should we find him? Perhaps, but we should not capture and contain him, no.”

Conrad noted that his accent started to shift back to British. Maybe John had things well in hand after all. “You’re taking pity on the man because of the girl, aren’t you?”

Dmitry shrugged wordlessly, and Conrad considered his position. “No,” he said. “And if you tell her, we’ll pull you.”

“And then what happens?”

“Then we have to find her, ask her what she knows, and if it’s too dangerous, we’ll have to kill her.”


	29. 2015: Sadusky Begins An Under The Table Investigation

Agent Peter Sadusky visited Ben often, but this time he knew he was taking a big risk. He was about to ask something of his long-time friend, something incredibly dangerous, if the wrong people caught them. But he kept all these thoughts just below the surface as he sat across the glass panel from Ben, now incredibly unshaven and grizzled-looking, and picked up the phone. “Ben,” he said.

“Sadusky,” Ben replied. “You’re looking well.”

“So’re you.”

“Working a tough case?”

“I have a bit of a problem, one I think you can help me with.” With full knowledge that the call was being recorded and he was on camera, he leaned forward and mouthed, “Verax.” Ben simply nodded in understanding.

“What do you need?” he asked as he sat back.

“First of all, pretend you’re Ian’s brother. Do you know him well enough to pass?”

“I can try.”

“Good. Good. Pretend you’re Ian’s brother, and you’re on the run and need to find him. Where would you start looking?”

“Not London,” he said. “That’s too obvious. Unless I wanted to hide in plain sight…” Sadusky couldn’t help but smile. “You’re looking for Ian’s actual brother, aren’t you?”

Sadusky nodded. “The higher-ups,” he mouthed, pointing to the ceiling. Once again Ben nodded. “Write me a letter. You know I have a copy of the King James Bible in my cell, a paperback printed in 1988.” It was Sadusky’s turn to nod. He understood where Ben was going with this. “You’ve got this,” Ben said.

“Thanks, Ben,” Sadusky replied. “Good luck in there.”

“Same to you.”

Ben hung up and nodded to the guard. Sadusky rested the phone in its cradle and stood, moving toward the exit with a nod to the guards. He knew what he was going to spend hours doing that day.

***

Sadusky had to check out the book in question from the Library of Congress, and he was currently partway through encoding the message to Ben when he became aware that Maggie was standing at his door. “Harris,” he said, looking up. “How can I help you?” He leaned back, folding his arms across his torso.

“Someone sent us this,” she said, handing him a manila envelope. “No return address, but there’s a note inside.”

“Hm.” He opened the envelope and dumped the note and a flash drive into his hand. He opened the note first, and immediately recognized the handwriting. _I’ll be damned._ “The plot thickens.”

“I’m…sorry, sir?” Maggie asked.

“If this note is correct, then Martin isn’t the first person Verax has made this tape with."

“Care to see what’s inside?”


	30. 2015: Katia Van Dees Feels The Heat Of A Soup Can

“There,” Katia said finally, after several long moments of silence in the rental car. 47 turned and slid into the drive of an innocuous but abandoned prefabricated house.

“Good choice,” 47 remarked, taking it in. Katia couldn’t help but look at him for a moment. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, followed closely by Katia. She glanced at the sun, now across its zenith. It was after noon. The stop to a deserted section of the Thames, where it emptied near the ocean, to ditch the body had taken up an hour and a half. She found the place and physically removed the body from the car, allowed 47 to watch and let him teach her his lesson for the moment. _What I learned in Agent School is how to get rid of a body._

She looked up at the prefab house as she followed 47 into it. White paint, two floors, a two-car garage, easily mistakable for several other houses on the street. She glanced at the car, a charcoal mid-sized sedan, just as unremarkable as the house in front of her. Katia closed, locked, and bolted the door behind her and ran her eyes over the interior, the furnishings…someone was trying to sell this place, and it just hadn’t turned over. There was light dust over everything but it was nothing too out of control. The stairs were sound, though she figured they would creak slightly. If someone tried to break in and kill them and she slept upstairs she’d have the advantage. Now if she could convince 47 of the same…

Deliberately, she walked around the lower floor, locking every window firmly in place if it hadn’t been locked already. It wouldn’t stop someone from breaking the glass, or carving a neat circle in it if they were smart, but if it forced their hand that way all the better. The kitchen, she noted, wasn’t stocked. They’d have to go out to eat, or buy cans of soup. Katia could handle that. She took a moment to glance out the kitchen window after she locked it. Their new neighbors had noticed someone had pulled up at this house, and were surely talking, speculating. But it would be harmless. They’d never guess at the truth.

She turned to the stairs, and eased her way up them. They were more sound than she initially thought, and were quieter than church mice. Hmm, that’d be a problem. Upstairs were the bedrooms, and a trapdoor that led to an attic that surely had been cleaned out for the move. Here, as on the first floor, she locked every window that could be locked, and the one that couldn’t was a narrow bathroom one that only a steamrolled cartoon character had any hope of fitting through.

_Dwelling is secure. Now what?_

Sleeping arrangements. The stairs were too quiet to allow her to feel safe sleeping upstairs, so she rounded up all the blankets, comforters, and pillows she could carry and started down the stairs.

“What’s all this?” 47 asked, looking up at her with his arms halfway out to his sides. He’d removed his suit jacket and probably hung it over the back of a chair.

“Sleeping arrangements,” she replied, kicking the blankets out of her way as she eased her way down the stairs. “Upstairs isn’t safe enough.” 47 seemed to accept this, as he accepted many of her declarations of “safe” or “unsafe”, and helped her with the blankets and pillows. Together they laid them out on the living room floor, across the coffee table from the couch 47 had claimed. “You sure you don’t want a set for yourself?” He looked at her for a moment and then shook his head yes. “Alright.” She finished making up a little bed for herself and stood, studying her handiwork a moment before looking at 47. “Are you hungry?”

“Depends. What do you have in mind?”

“Soup. Here. Just a couple of cans, nothing too expensive.”

“Take this.” He handed her one of his pistols. Katia concluded that he only surrendered them when he himself deemed it absolutely necessary, no matter how much he might trust her. She took the gun and nodded to him.

“You…you have a preference?”

“Tomato soup.”

Katia nodded. “I know just the brand,” she said with a small smile.

“Good.” He nodded to her, and she went for the door, plucking the keys off the rack and unlocking it to allow her to pass. She heard him lock the door after her as she got into the car.

***

Katia returned precisely fifteen minutes later, and 47 unlocked the door for her. She held up the cans, and he nodded in approval and a satisfied mild curiosity. “You know there are no bowls here, right?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it figured out. I’ve done this before, plenty of times. We just need a knife and a lighter.”

“Lucky for you I have both.”

Minutes later, Katia had skillfully opened both cans while barely dirtying 47’s fancy knife and was currently heating one of the cans. She explained that, given this was tomato soup, there was no need for utensils; you could just drink it. 47 remarked approvingly, to the effect that she certainly knew what she was doing. Once the soup started to steam and bubble slightly at the edges, she handed the can to 47, who handled it carefully. She pressed her palm into her thigh and let it cool a little before heating the second can for herself. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding. She held her can gingerly by the top rim, with her fingertips, and waited until she felt the steam curling against the still-fresh non-severe burns on her skin. She closed the lighter and set the can on the coffee table next to 47’s, to cool.

“Go, run your hand under cold water.” She glanced at him and then nodded, stood, and walked into the kitchen. He watched her, listened to the water running, heard her sigh of relief at the contact of cold water to her burned hand. He wondered if she felt pain, what her tolerance was. She came back wiping her hand on her jeans, and sat next to him on the couch again. “Better?”

“Yeah.” She nodded again. “Sorry, I improvised.”

“Don’t apologize for that.”

She looked at him. His voice was soft, as it usually was, but it had that tender quality that he only recently seemed to start expressing, at least with her. She simply nodded in response and looked at her soup can, gingerly touching it with her uninjured hand. Not cool enough yet. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Does your shoulder hurt?”

“No,” he said. “I’m fine.”

She nodded, and looked down at the cans and her hand, cradled in her lap. “How’re you holding up?” he asked.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“He was your father. I’m sure his death affected you. I simply want to know how you’re feeling…all things considered.”

_Oh, that’s what he’s asking about._

Well, how _did_ Katia feel about the whole thing? Scared, confused, it didn’t quite connect that he was really gone, and they’d never even find the body… She felt all those things, and deeper than that was the anger. How could 47 do this? He _promised_! He _knew_ how she felt about this! And he did it anyway! But with the Agency chasing them, with a target to catch, with things to _do_ , things to _think about_ , somehow everything she felt was secondary. “I…I feel…so many things,” she finally said. “But I feel like I can’t think about them right now, because of…everything else.”

47 considered her response carefully. She wondered what he was thinking about what she just said, but after some time he nodded but said nothing. Katia reached for her soup can again, and her fingers numbly curled around it, taking in its heat. It wasn’t too hot anymore, or, if it burned her, she didn’t care.


	31. 2015: Martin Odum Finally Takes A Man Up On His Offer

Martin awoke late the next morning to a dull ache behind his forehead. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and reached over for his laptop, which he seemed to have left open the night before. He tapped the touchpad, and then entered his password, and he found himself staring at a “Your session has been closed for security reasons” screen. He closed the window and shut the laptop as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think. It had been a rugged twenty-six hours, long stretches of looking up records of his former self and remembering missions and downtime at Six and, less frequently, time spent with his brother, talking in the outside dining areas of cafes and laughing over something trivial. It was as if the memories put pressure on his brain to the point that at any moment, the gray matter would explode inside him.

He stood and walked over to the corner, where a half-opened bottle of lukewarm water waited. He chugged the whole thing and tossed the crumpled plastic bottle into the corner near the bag that contained the rest of his trash. It skittered off onto the floor less than a foot away from the bag itself. He turned and walked back toward the mattress and the laptop. When he wasn’t looking into his own past he was sleeping fitfully, waking tired, and wondering if this would ever bottom out. He reached for his phone and searched through his contacts list until he found Ian’s number. He was due for something to do besides struggle through his resurfacing memories to read a computer screen. So he checked the clock to make sure it wasn’t a bad time, and he dialed.

Ian answered on the third ring. “Howe.”

“Hey, it’s…it’s Martin,” he said, rubbing his eyebrow with a finger from the hand holding the phone to his ear as he turned to the wall.

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you. How’re you feeling?”

“Miserable.”

“Need a break?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Do you want to go somewhere?”

Martin considered this for some moments. He wasn’t quite prepared for another onslaught of memories that might be unleashed if they visited a London café or walked down one of the streets. Ian’s apartment, however, was new, modern, and even soothingly minimalist. “Do you…do you mind if I…” Ian paused, waiting for him to finish. Martin knew he didn’t want to ask the wrong thing; even though Ian seemed to like him well enough the man was a powerful, connected career criminal. If he screwed up he was very likely dead. “Do you mind if I come over?” he asked. A very tiny part of him was sure he’d signed his own death warrant, but it felt good to get it off his chest. Unnecessary fear would be the death of him.

“By all means,” Ian said lightly. Martin could tell by his tone that he was smiling. “My door is always open to you.”

“Thank you,” Martin said, exhaling softly. He thought briefly about Conrad, his tail and would-be guardian angel. “I’ve got the situation of the man following me well in hand.”

“Good.”

“He’s a friend,” Martin said. “For now.”

“That’s good news. Interesting, but good news nonetheless.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m still gonna watch him, though, and we’ll see how this goes.”

“Alright. When should I be expecting you?”

“Thirty minutes, forty-five at the most.”

“Alright, see you soon.”

“Okay.” Martin hung up and shrugged on a jacket. In two steps he was out the door.


	32. 2015: The Interrogation Of John Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one features a character a friend of mine made, Paul Bolton. So props to her for letting him feature :D

Paul Bolton stood guard at the door, watching the man in the light-colored suit strapped to the single chair inside. He fought violently against his restraints roughly once every five minutes, tossing around his shock white hair until it fell into his sweat-soaked face. During his periods of rest he raised yellow-white eyes to Paul in a look of such impassioned rage that Paul had to focus almost solely on being (or at least appearing) unaffected. He reminded himself that if the prisoner ever found that out, that would give him the advantage…if he ever got out of the heavy steel restraints. The girl Katia Van Dees listed off a variety of increasingly creative ways they tried to kill him. None worked. Paul kept watching, waiting…if he survived everything the best man in the Agency could throw at him, given the opportunity there was no question that he would be able to escape.

And it fell to Task Force Operative Paul Bolton to make sure that didn’t happen. No pressure.

A crackle came over his radio. “How’s he looking?” It was Diana.

“Mad as hell, but still tied up,” Bolton replied.

“Do you want to be rotated out?”

Paul looked at the prisoner, who leveled him with that glare once again. “Send Decker in, if you can. I don’t know how much longer I can stand him glaring at me like that.”

“Very well.”

The crackle died down for a moment, just as the prisoner began struggling with his restraints. Again. He was going to exhaust himself before he broke out that way. Unless he was hoping one of them would break under the pressure and release him out of pity. Well, Paul wasn’t going to fall for it, and he knew Decker wasn’t going to, either.

Three raps on the door tore Paul out of his thoughts, and he turned and allowed Decker entry. “Good luck in there,” he said.

“Is it bad?”

“I think he wants us to take pity on him and break him out, or do it out of fear. That look of rage is _bloodcurdling_ , man!”

“I can take it,” Decker said, clapping Bolton on the shoulder as he stepped into Bolton’s place.  
***

Diana Burnwood watched impassively from the viewing chamber as John Smith alternated between resting and flying into violent fits of rage against his restraints. Her orders still stood, however: do _not_ , under any circumstances, allow him the opportunity to escape. If what 47 and the girl Katia Van Dees indicated was in any way true, he was simply too dangerous to be allowed out in the world. Surely the task forces would be up to the challenge of containing him until he finally wore himself down and divulged who he was and who he worked for.

Diana couldn’t afford to admit the very real fear she felt. _Never let an enemy know how they’ve affected you._

Bolton had almost cracked, but he held on well enough and knew when to quit. “Decker, how does he look to you?”

“Furious,” Decker replied. “Absolutely furious.”

_Well, that hasn’t changed._ “Stand your ground.”

“Roger.”

She sighed and held her head up, squaring her shoulders. When John Smith calmed down, and breathed heavily for several minutes, Diana pressed and held a button on the panel in front of her. “John Smith,” she said, speaking clearly. “This is your one chance to answer of your own volition. If you do not, I will send someone in to pry the answers out of you, whatever it takes. Who are you working for?”

“Piss off!” John shouted.

“Don’t swear at me.”

His eyes finally zeroed in on the two-way mirror. He certainly wasn’t as quick as 47 when it came to figuring these things out, but his other technical capacities were such that even 47 couldn’t kill him, and that was troublesome. As was the fire that burned in his yellow-white eyes. “Who. Do you. Work for?”

“No one!” John yelled. “Not anymore! Your precious fucking agent and that bitch sister of his murdered me!”

Diana sighed. He didn’t take direction well, clearly. “How, then, are you still alive?”

A different light began to flash in John’s eyes, a sort of delirious pride. “I’m special!” he shouted. “I’m special…” Either Diana was dreaming, or a tear brimmed in his eye. “Syndicate…I was their best! I was their 47! You understand that! Don’t you?”

“Syndicate International’s talent must not be all that great, but I give them credit for whatever they did that makes you virtually indestructible, if only for giving my agent so much trouble.”

John began to laugh, a behavior Diana found very odd. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“ _I_ gave that bald fuck _trouble_?! HA! Hardly! _He_ gave _me_ trouble, if anything!”

“He had a job to do, you interfered. Therefore, you gave him trouble. And since you’re clearly hard to kill, that just gives him even more trouble, so we have to make the effort to contain you.”

“You talk like I’m the bad guy!”

Diana released the button and sighed heavily. He was impossible, and needed to learn a thing or two, clearly. She pressed and held a small button on her earpiece. “Send him in,” she said.


	33. 2007: Settling In At The Safe House

Jackie walked up to the door of the safe house—a foreclosed-upon suburban home in a city she barely recognized, that looked so much like the others that it would easily be passed by. These people had very good taste in safe houses. She stepped across the threshold and looked around; Ian and Shaw, who seemed to have annealed to each other, found their way to a corner of the living room, with the rest of the crew fanning out and looking around. Phil hung close to the walls, and Riley hung close to Jackie. She closed the door behind them and looked at him.

“What do you think?” she asked. “You goin’ home?”

“And bring the eight million people after us on Ben and Abigail?” Riley shot back, as if Jackie had lost her mind and it had wandered up a lizard’s ass. “NO! No. They’re my best friends. I’m not going to endanger them.”

Jackie nodded. Part of her thought Riley unusually wise, and certainly very good-hearted if this was how he regarded his friends. “OK,” she said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“R-really?”

“Really, Ri.”

“O-Oh. Um… Nobody’s ever…”

Jackie smiled. “There’s a first time for everything, Riley. C’mon. I’ll help lock this place up, you can find a place to sleep for the night?”

“Yeah, sure.” Riley nodded, and Jackie began checking over the windows and doors, making sure each was locked. She caught a glimpse of Ian and Shaw, holding hands and making their own rounds about the house. She smiled at the sight. “Good to be back?” she asked.

Shaw laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Good to be back.”

“Good to have you back,” Ian added, looking at him. Shaw laughed a little in response and kissed him gently on the nose. Ian looked at her. “So, I see you met Riley.”

“Yeah. He wrote that book I love. Remember, I told you about it?”

“Yeah, I remember. You have a copy with you? I’m thinking on getting started.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a copy with me. Got Riley to sign it, too.” She couldn’t help but smile.

Ian laughed. “I see,” he said lightly. “Well, as long as he makes you happy.”

“I think he’s too scared of getting on your bad side to try, well, _anything_ , really,” she said, looking up from the window and turning to fully face them. “He seems to have a long memory for people who shoot at him and leave him underground to die.”

Ian nodded, expression suddenly somber. “I understand,” he said. “It makes perfect sense, actually. Self-preservation and all that.”

Jackie nodded. She licked her lip as she looked away from the window and met Ian’s gaze. “Usually I appreciate your ‘protective big brother’ routine, but please. Don’t pull that with Riley, alright? He already knows what you want anyone going out with me to know: that if he fucks up, he’s just dug his own grave and he should wait for you to pull the trigger. He’s seen what you’re capable of. Go easy on him.”

Ian nodded. “Promise, Jaq.”

“Thanks,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. Then, as if without warning, she pulled him into a hug. He released Shaw’s hand in surprise and wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”

“When this whole business with Octagon is over, you’ll…you’ll have to deal with Phil breaking you out.” She swallowed. “There are no winners here. There probably never will be. Even Riley can be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice.”

“He’s gotten off before, he and Ben and Dr. Chase. They’ll find a way.”

“They hate you. What about you? What about Shaw, Powell, Victor, _Phil_? Somebody has to go to prison, Ian. Right now that ‘somebody’ looks like everybody in this safe house. If the original owners don’t come knocking and try to kill us before then, that is.”

Ian kissed her hair and stared off out the window. “I’ll think of something,” he said.


	34. 2015: Like Pieces On A Chessboard

The ring on Riley’s phone cut through the silence like a warm knife through butter. Jackie reached for it and answered. “Poole residence, Jackie speaking.”

“Where’s Riley?” Abigail asked.

“Asleep. I take it you’ve heard?”

“Yeah. You?”

“You have no idea.” She shook her head. “You know what our next step should be?”

“According to Ian it’s more prison breaking.”

Jackie nodded. “That’s why you need Riley?”

She heard Abigail sigh. “Yes. Listen, I know…how it sounds—”

“Abi, listen.” Jackie turned, spotting the couch on which Riley was currently passed out. “It’s my cousin this time.”

“Ian?”

“No. OK indirectly yes. But his brother.”

“He has a brother?”

“John. Except he’d rather be called Martin right now. Some shit went down at the hands of Verax and now he has…memory issues.”

“M-Martin Odum? The fugitive?”

“We’re all fugitives, Abi. Because the system has been rigged against us by…by…” She realized she was becoming passionate, animated, and took a deep breath to calm down. “What’s one more crime?” she asked with a light shrug. “This is what we do.”

“Where does this end?” Abigail asked. Her voice was heavy with the sense of weight of everything on her.

Jackie answered with cold conviction. “When Verax is destroyed.”

***

Ben hadn’t decoded a good puzzle in a long, long time, and Sadusky had managed to expertly encode a whopper. It kept him thoroughly engrossed, to the point where he barely noticed that the guards and other prisoners had noticed something had sucked up his time and attention like nothing they had ever seen before. It took hours to finish, and he enjoyed every second of it, because each letter decoded was one more petal on the unfolding flower of a truly unusual tale, turning to face the dawn.

_“Verax has resurfaced. They’re coming for Ian and his brother this time. I need you to help me stop them. Let me know who I can safely contact regarding this. Also, have your paperwork re: pg 47.”_

Ben grinned like a fool and would’ve cheered, except that he remembered where he was. So he kept most of that inside, save for the little smile that danced on his face. He dug up another scrap of paper and jotted down a series of phone numbers disguised as Bible verses before tucking the paper into his jumpsuit. Now, he needed a way to pass this up to Agent Sadusky.

***

Martin could feel Conrad close to him, and he realized he was remembering a mission somewhere, in a city, where Martin was tailing somebody and Conrad had come along to make sure nothing happened to him. He looked over his shoulder at the man. “Anyone else?” he asked.

“Nope,” Conrad replied, falling into step beside him. “Remembering anything?”

“My time at Six is coming back in pieces, but nothing from before that yet.” Conrad nodded. “Any news?”

“They’re still looking for you. Word on the street is the FBI has a lead: they’re after your brother. But it’ll take some time to muster the resources to get agents across the pond and start tracking you down.”

“How long?”

“A day, two at the most.”

Martin nodded, and made a note to discuss this with Ian. “Anything else I should know about?”

Conrad lowered his voice. “Your friend Harris is in your corner. She’s going to shred that ‘video confession’.”

“They’re going to claim she pulled all that evidence out of her arse to defend me. Keep an eye on her, alright? I don’t want anything to happen to her.” Conrad nodded. Martin sighed heavily. “I wish I could tell her not to do this for me but for one that’s too risky and would expose my position. For another she’s been a great help technologically throughout this whole thing. Thirdly since it’s of her own volition she’s doing this and she’s a grown woman, I have no right to stop her.” He stopped at the door to the apartment building. “Where do you generally go after this part?”

“Hang out over the next couple blocks, keep an eye out, wait for you to resurface.” Martin nodded.

“Sure you don’t wanna come in?”

“Best this is handled piecewise, I think.” He nodded again. “Good luck. See you eventually.”

“Take care of yourself.” Martin waved and disappeared inside the building.

***

Ian sat at his table and stared at the computer screen, lost deep in thought as he considered Verax’s website— _they have a website, who knew!_ he thought sardonically—and tried to work out the ways he could get his guys in and access the real meat of the matter: the documents and bank accounts. Phil could handle the hardware, that was a certainty, but getting Riley to help was a little less assured, even now that they were on relatively good terms and he had a strong, solid relationship with Ian’s cousin. Ian personally harbored no ill will toward Riley, but he could see the reason behind his trepidation: It wasn’t just Trinity Church. It had been, at least in part, Ian’s fault that Riley had gotten into that accident several years later. So he understood when Riley’s first response was to blame him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. His thoughts were getting out of control, and he had to do something about that. On exhale he opened his eyes again, leaning back in the chair and staring at the floor plan of Verax HQ. At the ‘comprehensive’ list of security measures they had in place against things like theft. Ian cracked a wicked smile, because oh, he loved a challenge.


	35. 2015: John Smith Negotiates Freedom

John looked up as the door opened. His eyes widened at the tall, lean, blue-eyed bald man walking into the room. “How many of you are there?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“I am number Fifty,” he said.

“Great. I can’t beat 47, I guess I should just bend over and take it like a man.” The man watched him blankly. “What? What’s with you people and not having a sense of humor?” Again, Fifty said nothing. “Do I have to do all the talking around here?”

“That’s the idea.”

John sighed. “Listen, I already explained to the lovely lady up there that I don’t work for anybody anymore. Because 47 and Katia murdered me and destroyed my old life!”

Fifty held up a hand to silence John’s shouting. “Your voice is too loud,” he said in a cool, hushed tone.

“No shit Sherlock! I’m pissed off!”

“I can see that.”

“Fuck! You’re even more impossible than your brother!”

“I happen to find myself quite reasonable, thank you.”

“Is that why they sent you? To piss me off even more?”

“Angry people make mistakes.” Fifty walked over to some point behind John and picked up a folding chair, which he set up in front of John and settled into, resting his ankle on his knee and folding his hands, resting them on his leg.

“I don’t—” But he had. He had made a series of grave, grave mistakes: underestimating Katia. Underestimating 47. He refused to admit he overestimated himself, however. Either way, they had all led to one single point. He had caused all of it himself. So yes, he does make mistakes. “Never mind.”

Fifty considered him a moment. “Very well. Is it true you used to work for Syndicate International?”

“Oh, yes, it’s true.” _I was their best. They loved me so much… I mattered…_

“But you don’t work for anyone now, correct?”

“Nope! Haven’t you heard the latest news? Syndicate’s been wiped off the map by your big brother and little sister.”

“You mean Agents 47 and 90.”

“Wh-yeah-what-I mean-I guess?”

“How do you know her? Katia Van Dees?”

“Y-y-wait why do you wanna know?”

“We are still looking for her. Do you know where she went?”

“Fuck if I know, ask 47!”

“We tried,” came Diana’s voice over the intercom. “He dropped his phone off the top of a skyscraper.”

“Yeah that explains it,” John said to the two-way mirror. “And as _you_ know the last I saw of either of them was when they blew me up. They’re getting more and more creative. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. You guys might think so, though.”

“We only laud creativity where appropriate. Anything that draws attention, naturally, is not commended.”

“Ah, yes, super-secret shadow agency, got it,” John said, and he looked back at Fifty. “So, anything else you wanna ask me?”

“I just need to clarify,” Diana said. “You are currently a free agent—and I use that term in the loosest possible way—and have no allegiances to speak of, and your only desire is to…?”

“Kill 47 and Katia pretty much.”

“I see. Are you willing to…not kill them?”

“Lemme guess, because you need them alive.”

“Yes, I do. 47 is my agent, after all. It’s my duty to look out for him.”

“And his sister?”

“I imagine he’d be quite upset if we allowed her to die on us, but then, I understand that that is no easy task. She seems to have a genetic imperative to stay alive that is stronger than any other human’s.”

“OK so what do you want, if they can’t die?”

“47 has been given a…freelance assignment of sorts, with someone he knows vaguely from past work. Since you’re the only man alive who can go anywhere and not die from a stray bullet or random trap, I’ll need you to track him and report back on his activities.”

“In case he betrays you?”

“In case he gets mortally injured.”

“So you want me to be your eyes on him. How do you know I won’t just let him die and tell you he’s fine?”

“Easy. Shock collar.”

John’s expression went blank. He would’ve blanched if he wasn’t already white as a sheet. One electrocution had been bad enough. His mind was finally working through some way to get out of this, but this looked like his only option at freedom. It was either that or… He glanced over at Fifty, not sure he wanted to take any chances. “If you promise not to zap me for funsies, we have a deal.”

He couldn’t see it, but Diana smiled.


	36. 2007: Shaw Takes A Hostage

Shaw lowered his binoculars and sighed gently, gazing out the window of the vehicle. He was parked across the street from some office building in the city Jackie had found their safe house in, feeling it in his bones that this was the place to start. He wasn’t entirely sure what or who he was waiting for but he knew he’d recognize it on sight. He just had to be patient, keep his head, and stick to the plan, just like any other job he did for Ian for the past twenty years. And, if this was the plan Ian settled on, so be it. Shaw could carry it out. Last time he didn’t have the chance to keep his head or even confront one of these men about their actions; he remembered briefly the effort it required to escape last time, and the time before that. The key to success was not to get caught.

Someone opened the door to the office building, and immediately Shaw recognized him. He reached for the walkie-talkie and said simply “I have eyes!” before pulling out to follow the man the second he got in the car. He had a driver now? This was new. Or maybe Shaw had never noticed, never had the opportunity to notice.

Ian’s voice crackled over the line. “Keep on him. Corner him if you can.”

“Roger,” Shaw replied. He liked how easy it was to fall back into being Ian’s right-hand man. He certainly liked it better than the first phase of his life.

The man he was after was a lead scientist at Octagon, and if they nabbed him, Shaw figured, they could bypass a lot of the trickier steps in their little plan of destroying that particular agency. A little intimidation ought to do the trick, Shaw thought, turning a corner after he did. The man’s driver kept under the speed limit, as he did, and that made him a lot easier to track.

He turned another corner. “For the record, I love this car,” he said over the radio, smirking. He heard Ian laugh on the other end.

***

The two of them drove for almost two hours, and Shaw was starting to wonder if the driver was trying to shake their tail. If so, he held on as tight as he could, or they weren’t trying very hard to shake him to begin with. He started to wonder if the men inside that car recognized him, and could guess what they were in for.

The silver car in front of him parked in a dusty, derelict parking lot in front of a ruined old factory. Nobody could hear them scream out here, or if they did it’d be days before the authorities did much of anything about the situation. Secret meeting, and perfect opportunity for him. He parked a few blocks down and slipped out of the car, a black Jaguar that reminded him of the one that waited for him back in England, that Ian had purchased for him as a gift once upon a time. He wondered who they’d think he was now, but as they got out of the car and the driver looked around, Shaw could tell the man recognized him. He reached for the scientist and gestured, and the scientist turned and looked and recognized him as well. They both seemed frozen on the spot as Shaw advanced. He’d held back a lot in the twenty-odd years he’d known Ian, but now, there was no space for that. He was a predator, and he _was_ going to get what he came for.

He walked up to the silver car and stepped in front of the scientist, blocking his path. The driver flinched, and in a flash Shaw grabbed his upper arm and pinned him to the car. “I need to talk to you,” he said tersely, evenly.

The scientist trembled, opening his mouth and trying to stutter through a reply—several times—before Shaw took a step closer to him. “Wh-what do you want to know?”

“Everythin’ you do about the layout of Octagon, all the security bypasses.”

“I…I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” He shoved the driver’s head against the car and let him fall to the floor, unconscious and likely concussed, and grabbed the scientist by the lapels of his charcoal suit jacket, pinning him to the car. “I’m not one of those you can easily control with that chemical cocktail of yours, so don’t bother. I’m in charge now.”

The scientist pressed back against the car, as if trying to gain any distance he could. Shaw pressed closer, disconcerting him on purpose. “Do you understand?” he asked. The man nodded frantically. Shaw stepped back just slightly and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him to the Jaguar.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” he asked shakily.

“Quiet, you!” Shaw snapped back, throwing open the rear door and shoving him inside. “You don’t move or I’ll tape you up, got it?” The man nodded frantically, and Shaw climbed into the driver’s seat and picked up the radio. “I got him,” he said.

“Well done, Shaw,” Ian replied.

Shaw glanced over his shoulder at the scientist cowering in the back seat, and pulled out of the dusty lot on his way back to the safe house.

***

Jackie leaned against the window, peering out through the shade the second she heard a car pull up. The stolen black Jaguar parked in the driveway, and in five seconds flat Shaw had climbed out, walked around to the back seat, and jerked an unfamiliar man out of the seat. The poor sod seemed terrified, but that was just the state they needed him in. This way it was nearly given he would talk.

Shaw forced him through the door, and Jackie stepped back, giving a wide enough berth to guarantee that she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire on accident. Powell and Phil propped up a chair, and Shaw shoved the man into it, taping him in place. Ian closed the door, and he and Shaw turned to their captive, who stared up at them, taking in the scene. He looked from Shaw to Ian to Phil and Powell and back again, as if trying to figure out how one clone had gotten this far in life. Or at least that’s what Jackie would’ve guessed based on her prior knowledge of their prior situation and what it was they were currently setting out to achieve.

She turned to Riley, guiding him to the back door with a hand on his shoulders. “This is going to get ugly. We should probably go,” she whispered. Riley simply nodded in agreement. _I just hope this helps a little_ , she thought. _It better._


	37. 2001: Katia Van Dees Leads An Escape

Katia looked at the train schedule for Prague-to-Berlin, even made sure her passport was up to the latest standards, and thought a moment, hesitating for reasons she wasn’t fully aware of, or ready to admit to. She took a breath, and turned out of the train station, deciding to catch the next one. There was something else she had to attend to here, after all.

She wove through Prague, taking mostly side streets, switching up her route every few turns like usual but zeroing in on the man she was looking for. She owed him a goodbye, a thank you, something for all he’d done for her. And…if she wanted to be honest with herself, she wanted to see him again. Thoughts of Dmitry had a nasty habit of lifting her spirits, and she still remembered how she saw him in the car, with the light hitting him just so.

She dislodged the thoughts as soon as she felt herself starting to blush and grin like an idiot. She shook her head and took a deep breath, looking around at the back streets, weaving her way through to the truck yard. Over the past few days a semblance of order had returned to it. It seemed the truckers had accepted that whoever was at the helm, it was in their best interest to get the job done to the best of their ability, as ever. Katia slipped around the back through a hole in the chicken wire fencing, creeping up to the main office building, or what passed for that these days. The door was open, and she caught one driver slipping out at a quick walk, looking like he was on the verge of defecating in his pants. She took a step through the doorway after he was some twenty feet away.

Dmitry was exactly where she expected to find him: at the desk, his jacket draped over the chair, his feet propped up on the messy desk, picking his fingers bloody with a toothpick. He looked up when he noticed her. “Katya,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you’d be on your way to Berlin by now.”

“I planned to,” she replied. “But I wanted to see you before I…before I left.” He straightened, lowering his feet. She had his attention. She swallowed, keeping her nerves and excitement at bay. “I…I wanted to say thank you, for everything. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, so I wanted to say goodbye, too.” She swallowed again, thickly, as if her words made this real. She was really leaving for good and they might never cross paths ever again. Her gaze fixed on him, as if to memorize him, and he was watching her in return, curiously.

“W-would you like a business card?” he asked after a long moment. “S-some means to…”

“Yes, please,” she said at once, and a smile cracked across Dmitry’s face as he leaned forward, picking up a piece of cardstock, scrawling on the back and holding it out to her. She stepped briskly up to the desk and took the card, thanking him with a light smile. He smiled back, warmly, more warmly than she expected. “You have bright eyes,” she said in _fenya_. “They sparkle when you…when you’re like this.”

“ _Spasibo_ ,” he said, and for a moment they hung in silence, Katia trying to figure out what to say next, Dmitry watching her.

Finally she cleared her throat. “I…I should probably…I have a train I should… It was good to…”

“Find him,” he said, cutting off her rambling, with a hint of urgency that certainly caught her attention. “For his sake, for your sake, find him. He will need you. You can hide him, and you may need to.”

“I’m…sorry?” she asked.

Dmitry shrugged. “You have the experience,” he said simply and lightly, and that made sense. “Experience that will help you later on, when you find him.”

“Is he in danger?”

Dmitry leaned back, refusing to answer either way. To Katia that spoke volumes. She simply nodded, and took a step back, still unsure if she should leave quite yet. The next train en route to Berlin wouldn’t be departing for an hour and a half, so she had time to stick around, if she wanted to. And on some level, she did want to.

She paused suddenly, feeling someone close in, all measured steps and calculated movements, determined and smooth and ready like a predator. A hunter. “You need to get out of here,” she said sharply, snapping her attention back to him. He blinked, creasing his brow. “Now!” They didn’t have a lot of time. She dove toward him, swinging around the desk and grabbing him by the arm, pulling him up and toward the back exit. He was directly behind them now, shooting. She wove around the pillars, and the bullets rang off the pillars, sending saw dust and splinters into the air.

“Who is he?” Dmitry shouted.

“Quiet,” she hissed, shoving him through the door and diving out right after him. Their pursuer continued, as steady as ever. She led them down the alley and rounded a corner onto a side street, the next three steps of their flight already planned out in her head. She could already tell he’d be unstoppable. She glanced at him; he was armed. Good. He was going to need that.

He looked at her as they rounded another corner. “Where’re we going?”

“Shush.”

He threw a glance over his shoulder, but by then she had led him around another corner, putting some distance between them and their hunter. Katia could still hear him. He was still too close. She needed to do something. They needed just a little more distance… She could do this…

She jerked them around another corner and ducked them behind a Dumpster to catch their breath. “What do we do?” Dmitry asked in a breathy whisper.

“Live,” Katia replied. “No matter what it takes.” _God, we’re screwed._

He looked at her, his mask of bravado gone completely and replaced by sheer terror. She simply nodded to him, trying to be reassuring. After all, surviving she was pretty good at. She looked back out into the alleyway, listening to the hunter approach. The man wore a finely tailored black suit with red tie and white dress shirt, was bald, and had icy blue eyes and thick eyebrows. He was utterly expressionless, and it chilled Katia to the core. He was moving down the alley in the same cold, calculated, and even fashion she’d come to recognize. She reached out and slipped Dmitry’s weapon into her hand without him noticing.


	38. 2015: The Interview of Riley Poole

Sadusky leaned back in his chair, taking a healthy gulp of coffee and unfolding Ben’s note.

_Talk to Riley Poole. He is safe, and has his own vendetta against Verax. They caused his limp. Also, re: pg 47: all relevant paperwork in a manila envelope in evidence, labeled with a fleur-de-lis design in the corner. Even though he asked me for the help, I need you to do everything in your power not to let what’s in there get in the hands of the former president. You’re the only one I trust with this._

He sighed, pursing his lips and exhaling through his nose. This couldn’t be about what he thought he was. This sounded like too much of a coincidence. He shook his head, leaning forward and reaching for the phone and dialing a number after referring to a business card. He could deal with the mysterious paperwork later. Right now there was an ongoing investigation and what kind of law enforcement officer would he be if he didn’t follow every lead he could possibly think of or that crossed his desk?

The phone rang several times, before he heard a somewhat familiar voice answer with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Mr. Poole?” Sadusky replied.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, is this a bad time?”

“Wh-what’s this about?”

“Ian Howe.”

Riley laughed. “I know I didn’t like the guy much but…”

“He has a brother.”

“What?”

“Can you come down to the office? There’s…a little trouble and I think you might be able to help.”

Riley’s laugh morphed from sarcastic to more nervous. “Time to perform my civic duty?”

“One of many. It shouldn’t take too long, if you cooperate.”

“Well what do I have to hide?” _You and I both know the answer to that_ , Sadusky thought. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, fifteen tops.”

“I’ll be looking for you,” Sadusky replied, and he hung up.

***

Riley’s limp was obvious, even to the untrained eyes of the interns on Sadusky’s floor, as he made his way down to Sadusky’s office. Sadusky stood to greet him. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. There was a tape recorder on the desk, and the camera that watched him ceaselessly was still watching. Riley nodded and eased himself into the chair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not bad,” Riley replied. “You?”

Sadusky sighed. “Oh, it’s been a long three days.” He leaned over and pressed the record button on the tape machine, stating the date, time, interviewing officer, interviewee, and other relevant information. He leaned back again, folding his hands in front of him and resting his elbows on the arm rests. “State your name and occupation for the record?”

“Riley Poole, author,” he replied.

Sadusky ran Riley through a few more routine questions before getting to the meat of the matter: “Tell me about your history with Verax.”

“It all started in 2007…”


	39. 2015: Martin Odum Takes A Stand

“How’re you feeling?” Ian asked, handing him a glass of wine and walking over to the sofa.

“I’ve…been worse. The memories are causing headaches,” Martin replied, following him with his eyes. “They’re coming back but it feels like so much, too much, and too fast.”

“That sounds about right. You’ve lost, what? Thirty-five, forty years?”

“How old are you?”

“Fifty-Seven. And you’ve lost everything before 2004. So you’re missing forty-six years, to be precise. If my math correct,” he joked lightly, taking a sip of his wine. Martin smirked unevenly and took a sip his own self. Alcohol could be soothing, he found, and the wine was very, very good. It worked for him better than bourbon or whiskey. He wondered if that was a John Howe trait.

“But it’s coming back. Mostly it’s about Six. It’s…training and missions, most of it’s classified,” he said with a laugh. “We probably shouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“I’m just happy you’re starting to remember things. That’s all I care about, really.”

Martin smiled, and took a sip, letting the wine roll over his tongue as he swallowed. That felt good. “You have good taste in wine,” he said.

“Thank you.” Ian took a seat in an armchair, and Martin joined him on the sofa seat closest to him. “Does your benevolent angel feature in your memories?”

“Yes. He’s telling the truth, so far as I can determine.”

“Well there are certainly records, even classified ones.”

“I’ve combed through all public records of my life, and even your life, too,” Martin said. “I’ve only dabbled in hacking. I’m too worried about getting caught. I can’t afford that right now.”

“Then I think you need to relax,” Ian replied. “Just relax and let it come to you. If you absolutely _need_ the confirmation, we can deal with getting the records later. You can’t afford that risk right now, and neither can I, or anyone else. We have to worry about Verax right now.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve been meaning to ask, have you made any progress?”

“I have, actually. It seems you’re on record as an employee of theirs?”

“I was a spy, for Six. Or so I gather. They were in Iraq transporting out Saddam Hussein’s WMDs, for a substantial amount of money. They killed innocent Americans— _Jason Shaw_ killed innocent Americans and tried to pin it on me—and I…I guess I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to stop them. They captured me, beat me, tried to accuse me of being a spy. I denied it until I escaped, I had help. I’ll forever be grateful to that man, Dennis Evans, and I’m sorry I couldn’t save him later when I had the chance. I couldn’t save any of that unit…” He shook his head, realizing he was digressing.

“That’s alright,” Ian said sympathetically, laying his hand over Martin’s. “That’s alright. You did well. You called the air strike right?”

Martin nodded. “And I still have the ultraviolet tattoo on my arm. An employee ID.”

Something lit up in Ian’s eyes, and Martin realized he must have had an idea of some sort. “This will sound incredibly counterintuitive to you—”

“—but you want me to turn myself over to them, to give you access. Promise my loyalty, hope for fair treatment and a decent welcome.” Slowly, Martin could see what Ian was getting at: an infiltration, using the resources already available.

“And once you’re in, you help us gain access.”

“And what do you intend to do once you get there?”

“Several things. Draining accounts, leaking documents, everything we can to ruin them.”

“Total war.”

Ian nodded, a smile curling on his lips, seemingly pleased that Martin got it. “Are you in? Are you up for it?”

“Running will only get me so far. But this…if I can take some action in retaliation… fight back…”

Ian nodded, running a hand over his face. The idea appealed to Martin, if he were to be honest with himself, but it felt like a risk. “And what if the welcome isn’t so great?” he asked. “They’re just as likely, if not more so, to shoot me dead on sight as give me an open-arms welcome.”

“Well then, you just have to play your cards carefully,” Ian said with a light smirk. “Don’t worry. You’ll have backup in case something goes really wrong. My crew’s the best, they’ll cover your six.”

“Thank you,” Martin replied.

“I’ve always looked out for you. Even if you don’t remember very much right now, I’ve always looked out for you.” Ian’s voice was soft, and he had a certain fondness in his eyes that Martin found somewhat familiar, or at least soothing from a place of familiarity. He understood what the man had been so afraid of, and what he meant. He reached out tentatively for Ian’s shoulder, experimenting with how the gesture felt, seeing if it triggered any memories. His hand found Ian’s shoulder, gripping it firmly, and Ian smiled at him, clapping him on the shoulder.

Martin smiled at him a little, starting to feel a little bit better about everything. His heart warmed at the thought of having the support of his brother. Not just a criminal who was certainly a good, staunch ally to have and a dangerous man to piss off. His brother. The man to whom he clearly meant a great deal. Martin realized he wasn’t running anymore. He was preparing to take action, to do something permanent about the spectre that had taken over his life.

“I want to stay here,” he said. “I want to help you finalize your plans for destroying Verax.”

Ian grinned further. “By all means,” he said. “It should be a lot more comfortable than where you’re staying now.”

Martin laughed. “True,” he said. “I just need to pick a few things up and I’ll be back.”


	40. 2015: Agents 47 And 90 Decide To Split Up

Katia snapped her eyes open, feeling a hostile close. Carefully she pushed herself off the makeshift bed she’d made near the sofa in their safe house, and slipped over to the main door, pressing her back against the wall and peering out the window. She pushed the blinds aside ever so slightly, and was relying on primarily her hearing to track the hostile’s movements. He moved slowly down the street, as if contemplating moving from door to door asking after the fugitive, Martin Odum. She scanned the neighborhood, trying to gauge the reticence of the neighborhood for answering questions about Odum or his apparent twin brother, renowned criminal Ian Howe.

After several moments she acknowledged 47 staring at her. “One hostile,” she said softly. “Have your guns ready.” 47 nodded, passing her one. She couldn’t help but look at him in surprise, though she had already resigned herself to using his guns on his terms only. Her fingers curled around the grip as if it was made for her hand, though it weighed as though it was custom-made for his. It didn’t stop her before. The hostile stopped and spoke into a radio. Katia strained to hear the exchange.

“…quiet, sir.”

“Keep looking. He has to be somewhere in that big-ass city.” The voice, distorted by the radio, sounded somewhat gravelly, and certainly American. She got the impression of a man not only hardened by war, but delighted by it. It held benefit for him. He profited by conflict, by chaos.

“Yes, sir,” the man said, and started down the street again. Katia leaned off the wall and looked at 47. The question was clear in her eyes: _do we let him go or take him hostage?_

47 read the question perfectly. “He’s probably a grunt,” he said. “The odds of him having access to our target are low.” Katia nodded, passing 47’s gun back to him. 47 holstered it with the slightest hint of gratitude and relief.

“You don’t like parting with those, do you,” she said softly.

“I don’t,” he said simply. “They’re custom made Colt .45 calibre weapons coated in chrome.” She nodded. Everything was precise with him, and she could easily see how that could be soothing. The effect spread to her a little, if only because if anything was off with him, that would be a huge tip-off for her. There was safety in the company of a man so deeply set in his habits.

“Sounds expensive,” she said, equally simply, with a light smile and a flash of humor. His expression softened just slightly. She sighed a little. “This place is going to be _flooded_ soon.”

“They’re not looking for us. That’s where our cover comes from.” Katia nodded. “What else do you see?”

Katia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Focusing came a bit easier now. “There’s a squad in the Square, besides the one that touched down yesterday. There are two others still fanning out from the airport. He’s stepping it up, and building up his support base for when the Commanding Officer finally moves in. I give it two days, tops.”

“Hm, nice work, Katia.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“You’re getting pretty good at this.” She recognized the words as the prompt she used after the kerfuffle with the airport, when she’d been seen by the front camera on her way out. It lifted her heart.

“I have a good teacher,” she said.

“What do we do now?”

“I think we need to start planning our job,” she said. “One of us is sufficient to stay here and wait for Jason Shaw, but there’s another target, who’s now the Director of the FBI.”

He lifted an eyebrow, impressed. “Can you do a job by yourself?”

Katia faltered slightly, then said, “I have to try, don’t I?”

He considered her, appraised her. “You’re right,” he said. “Which would you prefer?”

Another tough question that forced her to pause. Jason Shaw sounded like a reckless type, the type to run into a situation and savor it. The director, on the other hand, would be heavily protected, and any action against him would be considered terrorism by the American government. She tried to weigh how much she could handle, how much she felt ready for.

She remembered the emotionless state she found herself in when she killed 32, and found herself lapsing into it now. “Give me Spiller,” she said. It didn’t quite sound like her voice, but it was. The delay had taken only half a second at the very most.

He didn’t even raise his eyebrows. “You shall have him,” he replied simply. Katia nodded.


	41. 2001: Dmitry Reciprocates A Favor

Dmitry noticed that his hip was some twelve pounds lighter when Katia flashed through the alley, taking out their hunter’s knee in a swift movement and ducking behind the next bit of cover, a tin trash can and a pile of cardboard boxes full of God knows what. The man turned toward her, already on top of her, ready to pounce, and Dmitry dove forward, shoving him into the wall across him. Katia flinched deeper into cover as Dmitry went to town, punching and kicking and shoving, unleashing all the violence he had on that trucker when she first set eyes on him.

It occurred to Katia that he was doing this in her defense, and she watched, transfixed, fear melting from her bit by bit as she shifted to sit on her knees and simply stare up at him as he assaulted their predator. The gun fell from her hand to the pavement under her knees, though she, surprisingly, had no concern about what would happen to her because of it.

Finally Dmitry stepped back, panting, and the man fell in a heap to the asphalt. Unconscious. Quickly Katia picked up the gun again, and Dmitry turned to her, holding out a hand to her. She paused, took it—it felt strong and tough, as if hardened by many beatings, many triggers pulled—and helped herself up. Then, quickly, somewhat awkwardly, very shyly, she palmed his pistol into his hand and took a step away from him. He looked at her, holding the gun, frozen for a moment, long enough for her to look back at him. “Th-thanks,” she said. “You saved my life.”

“You saved mine,” Dmitry replied with a shrug. “We should get going, no?”

“Right, we have to move fast. He could wake up at any time.” Katia, for her part, was relieved to have the distraction. Something practical to do would take her mind off, well, everything. She walked briskly to the opening of the alleyway, and Dmitry holstered his gun and followed her.

“You were brave,” he said after they turned a corner down a quiet side street, looking every bit like two people taking a leisurely stroll together.

“Thanks,” she replied, looking away and hiding her blush behind a curtain of hair. In her mind flashed a memory of an image she captured in her mind of Dmitry with sun on his skin, his face impassively staring out over Prague. “What’s your last name?” she asked after a moment, looking up at him.

“Petrov,” he replied. “I am Dmitry Petrovich Petrov.”

Katia smiled. “Has a nice rhythm. I like it.”

Dmitry smiled back, lightly and warmly, as if he didn’t just beat a highly trained hitman into unconsciousness. The sun struck him again, and she stopped, taking him in. He stopped two steps later, a frown creasing his face. “Is someone trying to kill me?”

“No,” she said quietly, smiling. “It’s just the light.”

“Ah,” he mouthed, nodding in understanding. A faint smile started to curl on his lips. “You have train to catch, no?”

“It won’t be here for forty minutes.”

“I could walk you?”

She paused at his question, trying to go through all the possibilities, a mental process that had come so easily to her before. But, she knew in her bones that she was perfectly safe with Dmitry, for as far as his reach extended. Certainly nothing would happen to them on a simple walk to the train station. Her lips curled into a pleasant smile of their own accord. “Sure, that sounds alright,” she said. Dmitry smiled back, gestured somewhat elaborately at the path ahead of them, and they walked side by side.


	42. 2007: Ian Interviews The Scientist

Ian leaned back in the chair propped up opposite their captive scientist, crossing his ankle over his knee and folding his arms over his chest. “So,” he said, meeting the man with a level gaze. “My man tells me you’re one of the lead scientists for a company called Octagon Biotechnical. He tells me he recognizes you, and that you recognize him.” The man watched him, as if uncertain at the sudden absence of physical force. He was waiting; Ian recognized that look. “He also tells me you know about Octagon’s main facilities: all the ways in and out, all the security bypasses, the security capacities of the place, even where they keep the drugs to subdue the clones.”

The man’s expression shifted from the wariness of cornered prey to uncertainty about talking at all, the skepticism given to a police officer. Ian knew that look, as well. “You’re wondering why I want to know, don’t you,” he said. He knew the answer. “I’ll tell you: Octagon is going down. But if you talk now, tell me what I need to know, you’ll have a shot at being spared the disaster. If I have to beat the truth out of you, well…” Ian shrugged nonchalantly. He clearly had no qualms about letting the guys go to town on him, and he wanted their captive to know that.

“Wh-where do you want to start?” the man asked.

Ian smiled a little seeing his message of dominance get through to the scientist. He nodded to Powell and Shaw, who stepped into full view of the man, looking as menacing as they could manage. Ian was going to sic them on him if he didn’t fully cooperate to his satisfaction. “Where’s the main facility?”

“M-Maine. Upstate Maine. Where the GPS and phone companies and even most commercial satellites can’t find it. Underground, but with the barest of facilities aboveground, for access.”

Ian cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Shaw. “I can find it again,” Shaw whispered to him. Ian nodded and looked at the scientist again. “Security capacities?” he asked.

“Six hundred fifty highly trained guards who patrol the facility, and a small army of handlers for the clones themselves. They’re…unruly without the drugs,” he said with a slight laugh. “And some are allergic.” Ian glanced at Shaw briefly, who nodded, and he looked back at the scientist. “We need to be…very careful,” he continued. “We can’t hurt or kill them, or at least, they can’t. The clones are…they’re…a miracle, a master work of modern science,” he said. His voice shifted from terror to wistful awe at what he’d done, and helped do.

“That’s very kind of you but can you stay on track?” Shaw snapped.

The man flinched a little. He certainly had a healthy fear of Shaw. Ian considered this, thinking it was perhaps sufficient to have Shaw there for intimidation. He glanced at Powell, and kept the current arrangement. “Can you get us around all these people?” he asked the man.

“The ways…are limited…” he said.

Ian glanced at Shaw, who nodded in confirmation. “Finding a way out takes about six months of work, at least,” he whispered. “The hole I found the first time was closed up. They’ll have closed up the one I left behind this time too. Sneaking in will be a challenge.”

Ian nodded to him. “Can you get us in?” he asked the man, who shook his head.

“We are all…screened…when we return from topside…just walking in…will be impossible.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ian said tersely, cutting him off. “Surely you know a…secret passage?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Some way you could, say, let us in without notice of the guards?”

“Nothing…escapes the notice…of the guards. Or the clones that need to prove something, or escape trouble themselves.” The man’s eyes flitted to Shaw, as if Shaw were some sort of anomaly amongst his brothers. Ian suspected he was right, or at the very least on to something.

“You’re not being very useful to us,” Ian said, shifting a little in his seat to make himself more comfortable. “I’m going to give you another chance. Be useful, or never be seen again.” Powell cracked his knuckles, and Shaw reached for his gun, sliding it out of its holster. Ian noted that the man’s eyes were fixed on him. “Shaw?” Shaw stepped forward, toward him but not between them. After all, Ian enjoyed the show.

“Alright!” the man said suddenly, as if that would stay his captors’ hands. “There is…one way.”

Ian held up a hand to stop his men. “I’m listening.”


	43. 2007: Ben Gates Reveals His Secrets

Abigail sighed, looking at Ben as she set the phone down on the coffee table in the suite, her elbows resting on her knees as she leaned forward. “I just got off the phone with Riley,” she said. “He says he’s perfectly fine, but that he couldn’t talk long. Apparently he met a girl.” Her voice lifted on the last sentence, as if not sure what to make of that particular development.

“That’s…good, I’m happy for him,” Ben replied, barely interrupting his pacing, one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth.

She watched him a moment; it was obvious he was deep in thought on something else. “Is it another treasure?” she asked, somewhat sharply. She remembered what the President had pulled Ben aside to talk about, “the Book”—the way he said it implied a capital ‘B’, at least to Abigail’s ear.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said, beginning to gesticulate. She’d shamelessly admit her first impulse was to demand ‘You don’t know or you can’t tell me?’ but she could tell by his tone and gestures that he truly meant he didn’t know.

_You’re gonna hate me for this._ “So…can you talk it out?”

“Does this ‘so’ mean you’re mad at me?”

“No. Good rule of thumb for ‘so’ is what _follows_ ‘so’,” she said, smiling a little. “So. Can you talk it out? Or is it a state secret?”

“Well, I…imagine he’d like to keep this in confidence.”

Abigail nodded and stood, running her hands down the sides of the skirt of her white floral sundress, decorated with a red belt at the waist. “You can’t do this by yourself,” she said after a moment, letting herself lay her thoughts bare for a moment. “I know that…you want to try, and you think you can, but…you can’t.” He watched her, one hand supporting his elbow and nodding into his other hand. “You need help,” she continued, trying to keep her voice level. “I…am offering it.”

“Thank you,” he said, earnestly, lifting his eyebrows. “But I can’t tell you.”

She nodded. “State secrets?”

“Something like that.”

Abigail nodded again. “Can you solve the puzzle on your own?” Ben said nothing. “OK let’s try another question. When was the last time the rules stopped us?” He paused, considering her words with that same puzzling facial expression he seemed to always wear.

“Good point,” Ben finally said. “Have a seat, Abigail.” He lowered his hands and moved to the armchair opposite where she was just seated. She slid back into the chair. “The President asked me to take a look at something for him, in the Book of Secrets,” he began. His hand rested over his mouth as he leaned on the armrest. “Page 47.”

“So there is something,” she said, thinking back to the hangar.

Ben nodded. “Yes, there is.” He leaned back, lowering his hand, and began to recite. “ _‘May 23, 1964 – Langley approves exfiltration of top USSR scientist named Dr. Peter Aaron Litvenko.’_ Dr. Litvenko was a renowned biogeneticist, widely considered an expert, even a genius, a prolific author of scientific papers, even one of the minds behind a Russian textbook on biogenetics. The man is brilliant, and in ’64 at the height of the Cold War everyone on both sides thought he’d make a breakthrough in the field that could help them. Super soldiers.” He swallowed thickly. “The entry continues. _‘May 24 - The doctor agreed to the exfiltration on the condition that his then-girlfriend, Natasha de Silva, be allowed to come here with him. Langley agreed, and they were welcomed into Washington earlier this morning, and taken to a CIA interrogation room where he disclosed the latest developments in his research, advancements in human cloning and gene editing that he believes will one day lead to cloned, altered human beings.’_ ”

Ben paused, allowing this to sink in.

Abigail paused, letting the implications of what he’d just divulged float through her neurons. She almost couldn’t believe it… Her mind snagged on one key detail. “Where’s the puzzle?” she asked.

“Three years later the doctor vanished off the CIA’s grid, apparently taking work for an unnamed private corporation or starting his own project, nobody’s quite sure. Nobody’s been able to find him since, and the last anybody’s heard of him was back in the eighties.”

“The President turned to you because you find the impossible.”

“Exactly.”

Abigail continued to weigh his words against what she usually expected from these matters. Puzzles, treasure… She remembered the scrolls from the Library of Alexandria in the Templar Treasure room, and it clicked. “That’s the treasure,” she whispered. She looked at Ben and, more loudly, asked, “Does the President want you to find him?”

Ben shook his head. “No,” he said. Abigail let out a sigh of relief. As far as she could tell, it was better for the doctor and the whole world that he stay hidden, and his knowledge unknown by others. “There’s an annotation at the bottom of the page, dated to August of ’67. It summarizes how, after tasting capitalism and finishing his textbook in English, Dr. Litvenko picked up work at an unnamed private corporation, to put his ideas into practice in the name of science for someone without governmental loyalties.”

“How…how many big multinational corporations existed in 1967?”

“A few. McDonalds comes to mind. But that’s not the doctor’s employer.”

“Unless McDonalds wanted super-enhanced employees I think you’re right.” She took a deep breath, running through the list. It wasn’t a Soviet government or a government allied with the US, so…who was it? Was that the puzzle? It didn’t feel right. “What _does_ the President want?”

“I’m workin’ on it.”


	44. 2015: 47 Learns Of A New Arrival

“You want me to watch Katia _and_ 47, right?” John asked into his earpiece as he looked around the London airport.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Diana’s voice replied in his ear. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, according to the ticket checker Katia boarded a flight to Washington, D.C. under the name Sophia Rieper.”

“This disconcerts you?”

“I thought it’d be a problem for you. It would’ve freaked out the higher ups at Syndicate International.”

“I see.”

John started to move, seconds before a security officer would’ve approached him for loitering. Diana continued, “Don’t fret. There’s a job 47 needs to tend to, perhaps he’s deployed his sister to assist.”

_Would she?_ John wondered. The Katia he’d met, the scared little girl who then morphed into a powerful Agent under the tutelage of 47 himself, well, there was a chance she would. “Maybe she volunteered,” he said, half in jest.

“…Perhaps.” She seemed a little unsettled by that notion. John couldn’t blame her. After all, if his thinking was right, having a hostile wandering around killing willy-nilly was a problem for a company like the ICA. Certainly it would’ve been for Syndicate International. It was in the past.

“She basically annealed herself to 47 ever since she met him,” John said in an effort to be reassuring. “It’s a certainty she’s helping him on his mission, even if she is volunteering.”

Diana paused, as if considering this, comparing it with evidence she already had. “Very well,” she said, sounding a little more relieved at the news of Katia’s loyalty to 47, if no one else. “Pull out, there’s a change of plans. I’ll send an operative to keep track of Van Dees while she’s in Washington, you will watch 47.”

“Sounds like a plan. Just don’t let me get too close. You don’t want him to die, do you?” His voice took on a few notes of taunting nastiness as he spoke, but he didn’t let it go on for too long.

“Good point. Remember your task is to tail him, John. Nothing else. Or we’ll be forced to subdue and contain you. Do you understand?”

“Oh I understand.” He stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked around. Tracking down Baldie shouldn’t be too hard; he’d done it before. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and finally lowered his hand from the earpiece. His eyes roamed over the crowds, equal parts tourists and locals, easily distinguished from each other by their habits, and tried to think. That girl would’ve probably picked out a safe house, so she would’ve found a recently vacated home in a suburban neighborhood with a low crime rate. They would’ve stolen a decent car, with a solid frame but sleek and fast.

He spotted an equally suitable car along the sidewalk and checked the driver’s side door, finding it unlocked but without keys. Hotwiring a new model would be impossible. He reached for the earpiece again. “Hey, can I get a lift?” he asked.

“Where to?”

***

47 glanced out the window at the sound of a car passing on the road, slowly. His hand went to one of his guns, and he stood slowly, moving toward the window and peering out from behind the drapes. He recognized the car at once, and watched it carefully for several moments. For a moment he tensed, wondering if they were here to kill him, and then he saw someone get out of the back seat of the car, a white-haired but oddly fresh-faced man in civilian clothes and sunglasses. John Smith.

Had they turned him? Or did he bargain for his freedom?

Thanks to 47 and Katia, they knew John couldn’t be killed, but he was too dangerous to let out of sight, so it was entirely possible they agreed to let him work for them, at least for a while until they figured out what to do with him. With his free hand, 47 reached into his pocket and removed his phone, texting the latest news to Katia. She probably wouldn’t receive it until landing, but he felt she should know. It would help her when she returned, at the very least.

He paused, then wished her good luck.


	45. 2015: Sophia Rieper Begins Work On Her Thesis

Katia had carried on her small backpack, so she didn’t need to go to the baggage claim. She did, however, need to pass through Customs. Sophia Rieper was a college student visiting Washington for the summer, to work on her thesis on various political systems, and she’d heard that of the United States was the most unique in the world. Her brother Tobias couldn’t join her, though he sent his regrets; he had an important business meeting to attend and just couldn’t say no. Not if he wanted a promotion or a paycheck, at least. She expressed some regret over this to the officer, telling him how she and her brother were close and she missed him already.

Thanks to her anal nature regarding passports, her forgery was scanned in without problems, and she was allowed through with minimal fuss. She walked through John F. Kennedy International Airport and looked around, as if taking it all in. She couldn’t well hide from the cameras now if she was scanned in without hassle and they thought she was someone entirely innocent of any possible past or future wrongdoing, certainly to the United States.

Well, she thought, some people would think that was true after what she was about to do, and some would disagree and use it as an excuse to hammer on about border control and terrorism and all that. But this wasn’t an act of terror, no. She didn’t intend to cause fear. She intended to perform a very specific function for a very specific individual and the benefit of that person and his associates. It wasn’t her fault the man she was after was the director of the FBI.

She reached for her phone as she exited the airport and walked over to the line of taxis waiting to take people places. Maybe she could get a nice hotel room where she could plan things out. 47 had sent her with a burner phone, one of her fake passports, and a lot of cash, but no weapons, so she had to be careful. She selected a cab and settled into the back seat, smiling and striking up a conversation about what hotel he recommended, making sure it wasn’t too far away but not letting him know that, and allowing him to drive her there as she settled back and checked her messages. They were both from 47, reporting to her that John was at least temporarily affiliated with the ICA and tracking him.

The second was to wish her luck.

“Boyfriend?” the cab driver asked.

“Brother,” she replied. “We’re quite close. He’s got a huge meeting otherwise he’d have come with me, but he says it’s going well, and wished me luck on my thesis.”

“So you’re in college?”

“I am,” she replied with a confident smile.

“What’re you studying?”

“Political science. My thesis is on systems of government.”

“You like systems of government?”

“Absolutely. I think it’s absolutely fascinating as a field of study. I love the idea of how people arrived at the method of organizing their society that they have, and it varies across the globe. Absolutely incredible.”

“Good, good, and uh…you think any system is better than another?”

“Actually no, not really. Every system has its benefits and drawbacks, sometimes serious, but I don’t think there’s a ‘best system’.”

The cabby looked at her briefly, before returning his eyes to the road. “You’re a smart girl, Miss…ah…”

“Rieper. And thank you.”

“Here we are, Miss Rieper,” he said cheerily as he parked on the curb next to a decent-looking hotel that didn’t seem too expensive. She thanked him and paid her fare in cash before exiting the cab and walking across the parking lot into the hotel lobby, straight up to the reception desk. Did she have plastic? Yes, she did: her brother’s card under the name Tobias Rieper. He thought of every detail, and Katia was very impressed. She smiled when the receptionist handed her keycards for the room in question, and she headed to the elevator.

She reached for her phone again, and sent a status update to 47, that she was settling in and going to begin prepping for the job. Her eyes landed on his prior good luck message and her heart started to swell a little bit. She was grinning again as she leaned against the back of the elevator. She knew well it was his opinion that she was improving, and she would keep improving. She knew 47 would continue to test her, of course, and this itself was a test: eliminate your target in the most efficient way possible. (That, and both of them knew that there was no way she could quickly get a weapon into the US in this day and age.)

The elevator dinged, signaling her arrival at her floor, and she stepped out, walking down the quiet, ornately carpeted hall to the door marked with her number, keying herself in and taking in the simple two-bed room. There was a TV across from the beds, and she closed and bolted the door behind her, dropping her bag onto one bed and looking around. There was a closet and a decent-sized bathroom with the usual complimentary soaps. On the nightstand she found a pen and pad of paper, and a TV guide and remote. She decided to switch on a local news station and turn the volume down some for the background noise, and started jotting things down on the pad of paper. She started with the name of her target, and listed all the possibilities she could think of to kill him, from food allergies to stolen weaponry. She made an annotation to avoid the method used to assassinate the previous director. It wouldn’t be good to be seen as connected to that attacker.

Katia stopped, taking in her work. It was a very good start. She just had to gather some intel and narrow down her options. She recalled seeing a computer room downstairs, and wondered how far she would get before getting noticed.


	46. 2015: Martin Odum Falls Into An Old Rhythm

Martin returned to Ian’s apartment about half an hour later, his two bags in tow carrying, between them, everything he could take with him after fleeing from the law in the US. Conrad had driven him to and from his safe house, to protect him as more and more of Verax’s people started walking the streets. His face had yet to grace the local papers, on any page, nor was there any mention of him or any of his legends. That was a mixed blessing for sure.

They pulled up a few blocks from the apartment complex. Martin thanked him and climbed out. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back, you can pull out. You know where to find me, at least for the next few days.”

Conrad chuckled. “Right,” he said, though he waited until Martin was in the building before pulling away. He took the elevator and tried to go through his plan. Infiltrate Verax as John Cameron even though Jason Shaw already knew who he was. Clearly this banked on grunts at the headquarters not knowing who he was other than by his ID tattoo. He wondered if he was still in the system.

The elevator let him off in front of Ian’s door, and he barely had to knock before Shaw answered and let him in with a smile and a sweeping gesture. Martin managed a smile back and walked into the apartment, greeted by Ian and three unfamiliar faces.

“Martin, these are Phil, Powell, and Victor,” Ian said, gesturing to each in turn. “Phil, this is my brother. Everyone else, you remember him but he doesn’t remember you, alright? Just give it time.” The men nodded and gave affirmative noises, and Martin settled onto the couch next to Powell, who nodded to him with a slight smile, as if they were chums long ago and it was good to see him again. On the scale of looks Martin could’ve received, it was a pretty good one. He nodded back, smiling a little as well before looking at Ian, who took a seat in one of the armchairs, closing the rough circle formed by his crew and Martin.

Ian sighed, and said, “We’ve got a lot we need to get to over the next couple of weeks, and I need to talk this out.” He took another breath. “Martin, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to infiltrate. I know you want to, but it wouldn’t be safe for you, if what you said the first time we met is true and they already know who you are, and have been hunting you for a decade.” Martin nodded to show understanding. “However, we need some way to get inside the main headquarters or wherever they keep their hard drives. So, as it stands, your plan is still on the table. Another option is to have a pair of us pose as prospective clients, but it’s highly unlikely that would get one of us close enough to plant the disk drive and upload the program that gives us the access we need.”

“What do you need to do?” Martin asked.

“We need complete unfettered access to all their documents, and their funds, as we intend to leak the former to the whole world and drain the latter into an off-shore account they don’t have access to.”

“Modern total war.”

“Exactly.”

Powell and Victor looked at Martin, somewhat in awe. “Am…I always like that?” he asked.

“You two used to click pretty well,” Powell replied. “Like you read each other’s minds. Guess old habits die hard.” Martin smiled, and looked back at Ian.

“Who all is involved?” he asked.

“All the people in this room, plus our cousin Jackie, her fiancé, Riley, his friends Ben and Abigail Gates.”

“Can they be trusted?”

“With our lives.”

Martin considered this, wondering how many people he’d trusted with his life that, in the end, betrayed him, or ended up dead on his behalf. He wondered how many lives were at risk because of him, and felt queasy adding to that list. “They’ll hold you up to that,” he said.

“I know,” Ian replied darkly. “We all do. Riley has been permanently injured because of our dear friends at Verax. My friend Phil almost lost his hearing, twice.”

“First time was a prison break,” Phil clarified. “Second time was in that explosion.” Martin nodded, again to show understanding, and his eyes slid back to Ian.

“We’re all on the same side,” Ian said to Martin specifically. “We’re all loyal to this cause.”

_Cause._ The word almost made Martin scoff, with all the oaths he’s broken over the years with various different groups, just for being a spy. It was a thread that wove through Verax itself. “There’s something,” he said, as if he’d reached an epiphany, if a minor one.

“Go on?”

“That’s our way in… One of you, an American, decides to sign on with Verax. Talk a lot about patriotism and defending this great nation from corporations and other similar threats, and wanting to do what’s right for the country. They’ll recruit you in, and take you first to their headquarters for interviewing. Security will be light, especially if you’re consistent and mean what you say, and they might let you wander around and explore a bit. Ask questions, lots of questions. About security and cyber threats and whatever else, anything and everything else so it doesn’t look suspicious. Show interest. Like you would at any other job interview.”

He trailed off a little, realizing everyone was watching him, realizing he’d remembered all that without pain.

“I’ll go,” Phil said. “It’s my hard drive, I’ll plant it.”

“No,” Ian said. “You’re too young still, too inexperienced. You might make a mistake, and if they catch you you’re dead.”

“Send Ben,” Victor said. “He’s really great with that patriotism stuff.”

“But he’s not a fighting sort,” Powell replied.

“Plus they already know him, they imprisoned him,” Shaw said.

“Well Martin can’t go back,” Ian shot back, just a little too tersely.

“Abigail?” Victor asked, shrugging.

“Good point, she’s tough as nails, plus has an axe to grind.”

“What about Jackie?” Martin asked.

For a moment all the men paused and looked at him again. Then, Ian’s eyes slid around the circle to the men he’d recruited over the years, his crew and chosen family. “He’s on to something. She meets all the qualifications: fighter, American citizen, they’ve never set eyes on her before. Fix her up with her old last name and she should be set to go.”

“How old is she?”

“About Phil’s age.”

“Why don’t they go together? She can watch his six while he does what he needs to do.”

Ian paused, and nodded slowly. “I like the way you think.” He straightened in his seat a little. “And…while the recruiters are distracted…” He started to nod as his thoughts moved forward with a new idea, a new piece of the plan. “Security will check you and Jackie…” he said to Phil, as he stood a little to reach a pen and legal pad, then settled on the edge of his chair and began writing. “…while Abigail sees a man about some work she needs done, yeah?”

“You think that’ll work?” Victor asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“It better,” Shaw replied, looking him in the eye.

“Something has to work,” Martin said, sensing a fight. In a room full of burly men, that might be fatal. “Verax is dangerous and powerful, and needs to be stopped. They’ve already gotten too far, and gained control of the United States government. We really need to pull out all the stops here.”

The men looked at each other, then to Shaw and Ian. If Martin had doubts about the leadership of this group, they were now well and truly resolved. “Martin is right. We need a solid plan, all the holes patched up. We need to account for everyone, and protect each other. This is bigger than anything, and I do mean anything. This…well, this is war.”


	47. 2007: Ian And Shaw Talk Seriously And In Jest

Shaw walked into the kitchen where Ian waited, hunched over sheets from a legal pad littered with scribbles and phrases. His forehead rested in his hand, his pen threaded through his fingers and his other hand resting on the table next to the pages. Shaw smiled, setting a cup and saucer of tea on the table in front of him. Ian looked up, and Shaw took a seat next to him, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Tired?” Shaw asked.

“You have no idea,” Ian replied, shaking his head and looking back at his paperwork.

“How do you feel?”

Ian looked up, meeting Shaw’s gaze at once. Shaw simply nodded and looked away, and after a moment Ian looked back at his work. Shaw leaned back in the chair, swallowing and pursing his lips before looking at Ian again. “I mean it,” he said. “I’m not gonna take that question back just because you don’t wanna answer.”

Ian looked at Shaw again, then sat up in his chair, throwing his pen onto the table. “Fine, then,” he said simply. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“But you’re pissed I fell in the first place.”

“Yes. I am. And I’m pissed you didn’t find me sooner. I spent all that time locked in a cell with no will to escape thinking you were dead. What was the point of escaping if you weren’t out there waiting for me? But you were, and I never knew until a few days ago.”

“I’d give you a shit excuse like ‘I tried’, but I know you wouldn’t like that very much. So I’ll just say…I’m here now, I’m sorry for my long absence, I don’t plan on going anywhere for a long, long time.”

“Tell me you won’t die.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me,” he said sharply. Shaw could say nothing for several long moments. He held Ian’s gaze with a gentle firmness that held no secrets. He was just as unsure as Ian was.

“The separation would’ve broken me if not for my drive to be close to you again. You kept me going in that shithole. But I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I can’t tell you if I’m going to live or die, not with certainty. I could promise anything, but I have no idea if I’m going to keep any of those promises. So I won’t, not at the risk of breaking you again.”

Ian’s expression softened as he took in Shaw’s words, the sheer honesty of them. “I…” he managed. “I wasn’t expecting…”

“I won’t lie to you, Ian. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Shaw said, shaking his head a little. Ian continued to watch him, appraising him. Shaw tried to read his expression, and found it rather impossible. He had, understandably, mixed feelings about Shaw’s return, and Shaw understood almost all of them.

Then, Ian pressed his lips to Shaw’s. For a moment Shaw was surprised, as he hadn’t experienced this in so long and found he’d forgotten what it felt like, a little. Then, he began to relax and kiss back. Ian broke away just slightly. “I missed you,” he mumbled, his voice possessing a slight quaver. Shaw wrapped his arms around Ian’s torso, pressing him close as much as their positions in the chairs allowed.

“I missed you, too,” Shaw replied. “Don’t doubt that. Please.”

“I don’t.”

“I won’t sideline myself to stay safe for you. I want to be just as active as I ever was. I’ll be careful, same as ever. But I want as little to change as possible. I know there’ll be change, because you can’t just go back from thinking I’m dead for two and a half years. But I want it to be normal again, as normal as possible.”

Ian separated further, and Shaw released him, watching him. After a few moments allowing Shaw’s words to sink in, he nodded. “I understand. I want normalcy too.”

“I take it by your obsessive planning of this operation,” Shaw said lightly, smiling.

“Part of it is a desire for vengeance on your behalf.”

“You should breathe a little,” Shaw said after a moment. “I know how you get when you get into a plan, but I think you really need to step back and let this percolate a little, stew in your mind some, alright? Octagon isn’t going anywhere, and while I know every day that goes by is another day for them to gestate their clones and continue their brutal experiments and training sessions, I also know that every once in a while, for your health, you’ve gotta step back. Alright?”

Ian nodded and stood, and Shaw stood with him, sliding an arm around his waist and together they walked through the foyer and hallway to the living room, where Jackie and Riley were also waiting up, Riley with his arm around Jackie’s shoulders as they sat on the floor near the TV stand. “Can’t sleep?” Ian asked softly, looking at Jackie.

“No, actually, that was him,” Jackie replied, gesturing to Riley.

“Hey!” Riley said softly, looking at her. Jackie simply smirked and shook her head. Ian, in spite of everything, smirked a little at the sight.

“You seem to be getting along well,” he said lightly.

“So far,” Riley replied, a smile returning to his face, though he still looked a bit like a cornered deer or rabbit.

Shaw and Ian moved around to the couch, and took their seats. The rest of the crew was asleep on the floor in improvised beds of blankets and pillows. “You should sleep,” Ian said.

“Someone has to stay up and keep watch,” Jackie replied.

“For whom?”

“For the people this place belongs to. In case they come looking or somebody thinks it’s empty and tries to stay here.”

“We’re pretty hospitable, I think,” he said lightly, though Jackie could tell Ian was hiding something. He was still struggling to adjust to Shaw’s renewed presence amongst them.

“I’ll wait up for you,” Shaw said. “You three sleep.” Ian, Jackie, and Riley looked at him, and Ian nodded and curled up on the couch as Shaw took a seat at one end, Ian’s head in his lap. Shaw draped a blanket over him. Riley and Jackie lay back, on one of the several improvised beds. Riley pulled a blanket over them both and they nestled close to each other.

“They seem happy,” Ian whispered.

“I’m happy for her,” Shaw replied, just as softly. “Riley’s a good one.”

“I can hear you,” Jackie said lightly, her grin audible.

Shaw chuckled. “Go to sleep now.”


	48. 2015: Sophia Arranges A Meeting

Sophia devoured a full breakfast offered by the hotel, consisting of sausages and syrup, eggs, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, and orange juice. She wondered when the last time she ate like this was; though the story was only a few days ago, with her brother, just like usual, no one would ever have guessed that by the way she ate. It felt good to her to have a real meal, and she felt like she could conquer the world, especially as she polished off the orange juice, wiped her mouth, and disposed of her dishes in the provided trashcans.

She walked back to the elevator, suppressing a belch behind her hand as she waited for the doors to open. As she boarded the elevator and pressed the button for her floor, she began to wonder if her cover of a thesis on systems of government was enough to get her close enough to her target. After all, he was the head of one of the chief law enforcement agencies in the country. But then, that meant comparable security. She might not get close with her ruse at all. She could try but at the same time she didn’t want to get any radar.

The door opened, and she stepped off. Katia started to poke through the carefully crafted ruse, the familiar state of “emotions don’t matter” buzzing beneath the surface along with memories of 32’s death. She took a deep breath, centering herself, and slipped back into her room. Her eyes went to the list of ways to kill Director Spiller, already noting a few of the crossed-off options, most of them involving firearms. The news of the assassinated former director was still circulating.

She settled onto the bed, running through her available options. She had to look into his health history, both to see what would work and to see what would be believable. Some poisons will be hard to come by. There was always strangulation, she noted, remembering one of 47’s favorite, well-kept weapons: a thin fiber of piano wire with two grips on it, one for each hand.

_The next time you have to kill, you get rid of the body._

Katia curled up a little, pulling up one knee and pressing her lips into it, looking at the list. Strangulation. That was the answer to her previous question.

She knew what she was going to do.

***

“Sir,” a man said as he poked his head through the door of Director Spiller’s office. “A young woman wants to speak with you. Says she’s a college student from overseas and wants to know more about our system of government for her thesis.”

“What’s her name, agent?” Spiller asked, regarding the man.

“Says it’s Sophia Rieper,” he said, as his voice lifted in a bit of a question. He opened a file. “We already ran a background check. No criminal record to speak of, she even gets good grades, if the school records are anything to go by.”

“Does the school exist?”

“It exists. It’s a bit tricky to track down, since it’s not, you know, Oxford, but it’s there.”

Spiller nodded and stood, walking toward the door. The man stepped aside to allow him to pass, holding the door for him as he did so. “She still on the line?” the director asked over his shoulder.

“Yep.”

“Keep her there. I want to know where she’s calling from.”

“Already on it. She’s calling from a hotel she checked in at last night, on their public phone.”

_Odd._ “What does she want?”

“Just a meeting. Wants to ask you questions about federal law enforcement.”

“Questions she can’t ask a public rep?”

“She’s foreign. I guess she thought you were the man to talk to based on your high position. Thinks you have all the answers.”

“She can talk to a public representative and get all the same answers I could’ve given her.”

The man nodded and retreated back to his station, and Spiller stood beyond the monitors, hands on his hips. The screens at this station were responsible for monitoring the call. This woman was currently on hold, and he recognized his man’s voice when he picked up again and asked her why she wouldn’t talk to a public representative.

“Well I’ve heard of Americans that what they say to the public is often not the truth,” Sophia replied.

“She does know what she’s doing,” Spiller muttered. “Son of a bitch.”

“The basics of law enforcement in this country don’t change no matter who you talk to. We all know what we’ve gotta do,” the man said.

“Yes but I’d like to be certain of my sources. For academic reasons. I imagine people find the director of the FBI more believable than some grunt delivering the party line to the mass media, which the people don’t seem to trust anyway.”

Sophia was sly. Spiller had to give her credit for that. “OK Ms. Rieper, let’s find out what kind of game you’re playing.” He turned to his assistant. “Tell her yes to the meeting, but meet her with a full team. We’re about to turn the tables.”

But before his man could get even a syllable out, Sophia moved in. “I understand your need for security, especially in what people call a post-9/11 world. However, I have no weapons, I don’t even know how to use a gun. I barely know how to fight and I know my brother’s trying to teach me but the mere prospect just…”

Spiller paid close attention to her tone, checking for sincerity. There was certainly a lot of emotion there, but she also indicated that she knew what he was planning. Maybe she really was smart. Spiller still wasn’t sure. “Something doesn’t sit right with this girl. I want everything on her triple checked.”

“Yes, sir,” another agent said, tapping away furiously on a keyboard, calling up document after document mentioning Sophia Rieper.

“She mentioned a brother. What’s his name?”

“Who’s your brother?” the man on the phone asked.

“Tobias.” Sophia had a slight stutter. She seemed uneasy with the question. She could tell they were looking into her.

“Sophia’s not her real name,” he whispered. “Tobias might be an alias too.”

“Tobias. Old school,” the man said, presumably to help her relax.

“Yeah my parents like those sorts of names. Liked, I should say. They’re…they’re gone now. Last summer was rough for us both.”

“I’m…sorry for your loss.”

“Sir, Tobias Rieper checks out,” the man at the computer said, pulling up documents that were either real, or very, _very_ good forgeries. Spiller leaned forward, scrutinizing the photograph of a bald man with hard features, pronounced cheekbones and thick, bushy eyebrows. By far his most prominent feature was his icy blue eyes.

Spiller straightened and nodded to the man at the phone, flashing a thumb’s up. The man nodded. “So, Sophia, what’d you say your thesis was on?”

“Systems of government,” Sophia replied. “I came to the United States to study their distinctive form of democracy, covering key areas like law enforcement, public participation, et cetera.”

“Nice. Sounds like an interesting paper.”

“Thank you, I hope to get it published somewhere.”

“I look forward to it.” He glanced up at Spiller, who nodded. “He says yes to the meeting. We’ll pick you up in two hours, and show you to a café in town.”

“Thank you.” Sophia said her goodbyes and hung up, and the agent straightened and looked at Spiller.

“Good choice,” Spiller said. “Prepare a follow team to be on sight and three bodyguards.” He still doubted that Sophia was who she said she was, but if the system said Tobias was legit, he had to have at least a modicum of trust.


	49. 2015: Jackie Howe Weaponizes Water

Jackie chewed her lip, reading the text message over and over again. Infiltrating the organization that nearly killed her fiancé sounded like the epitome of dangerous, but the way Ian framed it made it sound like they were low on options. Besides, she wasn’t going in alone. She was taking Phil with her. That was…a little comfort. She thought to ask if Phil was going to be OK, but she was pretty sure he would be. He was young, sometimes bumbled a bit, but he still held his own. And she hadn’t forgotten it was Phil who singlehandedly led the prison break for his crewmates. Phil was more than capable of undertaking a simple infiltration mission with her.

She called Phil. “Get the message?” she asked when he answered.

“Yep,” he replied.

“You sure about this?”

“I volunteered. It was Martin talked them into letting you and me go together.”

“I see.”

“You?”

“Uneasy, but not because of my partner or the message’s very existence. It’s the content really.”

“Worried about infiltrating a big company?”

“Yeah. I’m almost sure they’ll put two and two together once shit goes nasty and your and Riley’s little program takes effect, especially so soon after hiring us on.”

“You talked to Riley yet, speaking of?”

“No.” She looked over at him, sleeping on the couch. He did a lot of that since 2007; seemed to be the only place he could get comfortable, and between the pain and the medications he barely took for the pain, he did a lot of sleeping, hoping for it to get better. “I’ll wake him later. We have to do finishing touches on that drive. How about you drop it off and I’ll be relay, OK?”

“Sounds good. Be there soon.”

“Great.” She hung up, and looked at Riley, touching him gently on the ankle. He jolted awake at once. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Just me. Phil’s gonna be by soon with the flash drive for final touches. He and I are going under in a couple weeks to plant it.”

Riley nodded. “OK,” he said as he struggled to sit up. She held out an arm to help him, and what she said truly sunk in for him. “You’re what?” he asked.

“Going under.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Riley, it’s war. Nothing is safe.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Promise you’ll be OK.”

“I’m gonna try like hell.”

He nodded, accepting this. “You and Phil will look out for each other, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

He sat up fully then, and Jackie sat next to him on the couch. “You…you understand why we want you relatively sheltered from all this, right?”

“Y-yeah,” he said.

“OK.” She looked around, and reached for his computer, setting it in front of him on the coffee table. He leaned over and opened it, logging in. She leaned on his shoulder, resting her head there. Her hand curled around his upper arm, and she exhaled a little, opening her eyes as she did so. “You know soldiers who go to war might not come back,” she said quietly. “That’s why I can’t promise you I _will_ be OK, but only that I’ll try.”

“I know.”

He opened a notepad file he’d been working on for a while now and read through the draft he’d been working on for some time now, ever since Ian’s plan for taking down Verax had reached him. He made a few edits here and there, and finished the piece of code that would grant them access to all financials and other records and sort them accordingly. Money would go to a specific account offshore that Ian had set up under an alias. Files would be published _en masse_ at a specific moment shortly after they were all downloaded and then wiped from the original hard drive.

Or, that was how Riley described what the code would be able to do when Jackie asked. She almost wanted to ask what he did in his previous life, but she figured it would be pointless. He’d been a hacker his whole life, from the time he could type, basically. He had a particular aptitude for it, and it really showed. He liked it, too, she could tell. He lit up and could go and go and go for hours when he had a code to work on. Sometimes she had to interrupt him and force him to sleep (or at the very least see how tired he was.)

Now she watched him finish his work as they waited for Phil and his flash drive. He had a particular fluency, a way with…well, while they were technically words, she could also recognize other special symbols there, too, indicating values and sets and if-then scenarios that were all required for the code to function properly.

After several moments she straightened, standing and walking to the kitchen where she poured them both glasses of water. She set his next to him, knowing he’d need it if not now in the future. His eyes flicked to her, and he nodded briefly before returning back to his work. She herself turned toward the door, at first not quite sure why, then seconds later realizing she was drawn by a change in the air. She heard more than one person approaching, possibly three or four. This wasn’t Phil… “Riley, stay back,” she said, moving to the door and peeping out the hole. Someone had already reached the door, was knocking and announcing himself and his compadres as “Police, open up!”

“Badges!” she demanded, holding the glass like a weapon. She’d use it as such if needed. Instead of the response she would’ve expected from a cop, which would be to hold up the badge to the peephole, he seemed to ignore her, repeating his demand and continuing to pound on the door.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, as they started battering the door down. She distanced herself, and they burst the door in. She splashed water in the face of the first man through the door and kicked him, first in the crotch and then in the head, sending him, disoriented and in pain, to the floor. The next two, she slammed their helmets together and rolled herself over the back of one of them, sliding toward the fourth to kick his head into the wall. That man dropped at once, and she landed in the hall, looking around.

The two men she’d knocked together turned toward her, moving back out into the hall. Her hand shot forward, grabbing his helmet and shoving it into the doorjamb as hard as she could. Head injury number two dropped him to the floor, unresponsive. She drove her elbow into the helmet of the last conscious attacker, and by then Riley had looked up. The man collided with the other side of the doorjamb. “Pack up and move!” she yelled to Riley. He nodded briskly, eyes wide, and slammed the laptop closed, shoving it under his arm as he limped over to his cane and leaned on it, moving as quickly as he could for the hallway. Jackie helped him over the unconscious men, and they moved briskly to the elevator.

Jackie fished out her phone and dialed Phil. “Pull out. Not safe at the apartment. We have to get out of here.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“We’ll meet you in the parking lot.” Jackie hung up before he could respond. Riley was jamming the “door close” button as hard as he could as she shoved her phone back into her pocket. “They’re onto us,” she said to Riley. “We need a new base now.”

***

Ian read Jackie’s brief message, frowning deeply. “What’s wrong?” Shaw asked.

“Jackie says she and Riley were attacked,” Ian replied. “You know who she suspects.”

“Because it couldn’t be easy.”

Ian smirked a little at Shaw’s response. “You’re telling me,” he said. “We need to find a warehouse or something, somewhere off-grid. Somewhere no one would even think to look. This is war, I forgot both sides would be engaged. It’s thanks to Jackie that she and Riley survived.”

“It’s not your fault what happened.”

“I know. It’s theirs.”

Shaw nodded, wrapping an arm around Ian’s shoulders. “Just breathe,” he whispered into Ian’s hair. “We’ll figure something out, we always do. Don’t worry, OK?”

“OK,” Ian whispered after a moment, nodding against Shaw’s shoulder.

“Besides, Jackie’s resourceful. She kicked ass out there, just like I knew she would, just like we taught her.”

Ian nodded again, and Shaw rubbed his hand down Ian’s back, back and forth, before sliding it around his arm again. Shaw shifted his head slightly and kissed the top of Ian’s head. “I love you,” Ian whispered, as one of his hands rested on Shaw’s side and the other on his back.

“I love you, too,” Shaw whispered. “They can’t stop us. Really they’re just giving us more reasons to fight back.”

Ian let out a laugh, settling into Shaw a little. “You’re right. They push against us they better be ready when we push back.” Shaw smiled and kissed his head again.

“That’s the spirit,” he said, giving Ian a gentle shake. “C’mon, let’s get back to it.”

Ian laughed and straightened, returning his attention to the legal pad page containing the list of things to accomplish. He crossed off the program and flash drive. They were already finishing up in the car, according to the latest news from Jackie.

Next would be to get Jackie and Phil in play, and now that would be kind of tricky, given what had transpired at Riley’s apartment. But then, perhaps they could vouch for her, if she could sell it that she’d been taken by surprise and fought back accordingly. They could certainly say she was clever and resourceful.

He took a deep breath. “Get Phil the number for Verax’s main office,” he said to Shaw. Shaw smiled a little, and got out his phone.


	50. 2015: The Director Lives And Dies In A Café

The unmarked FBI car, with a driver and two passengers, pulled up to the café, and the man in the passenger seat got out to let Katia out. She followed the man into the café, every bit just following a law enforcement officer’s orders. She spotted her target at once, and found he brought some muscle with him: three bodyguards. He’d have to be separated from him at some point, probably to go to the bathroom. _Hmm,_ she thought.

“Ms. Rieper,” Spiller said as she approached. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair opposite her and then straightened, leaning forward a little. Katia sat, every bit timid and nervous. “I heard you’ve got questions about American law enforcement.”

“I-I do,” she said. “Do…do you mind if I take notes?” She reached for her bag, which one of the guards had just finished searching. She retrieved a pen and pad of paper, holding them up in full view of everyone present. The bodyguards nodded in approval, and then, so did Spiller.

“I wanted to start with the basics. I heard a lot on the news about the cops recently, a lot of riots about police brutality and the like. I was wondering…what are the limits to police power in the United States?”

“Great question. Well, I always like to start with the Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution, which protects against unreasonable search and seizure of people and their homes and businesses. You see, here in America, police can’t just walk into your house. They need a warrant, and to get that warrant, they need a damn good reason. Even then there’re limits. You can’t just tear the place apart. You have to find evidence of the crime in question, detailed in the affidavit and the warrant. My agents can’t walk into your hotel room for complimentary soaps if you have a gun that was used in a murder, for example.”

Katia nodded, smiling a little as she looked up, briefly, from her paper and finished jotting down a summary of what he’d said. “I heard there are levels of police influence in the States. What exactly is the FBI responsible for?”

“We were initially founded to deal with organized crime,” Spiller said. “We’ve since branched out into interstate crimes, counterfeiting, even counter-terrorism.”

“Can you tell me more about those?”

“I can only go over the basics. There’s a lot of classified information.”

“I only need the basics for this section of my paper, don’t worry,” she said with a smile. “Counter-terrorism sounds new. Is that borne out of the 9/11 attacks?”

“To a great extent, yeah,” he said, nodding and leaning back a little. “Attacks on American soil can’t be allowed to stand. We have to do something about them, no matter what it takes.”

“I see. I hear your nation’s persistence and tenacity have paid off recently with the death of Osama bin Laden.”

“There are still a lot of groups out there hostile to American interests. Many of them are Middle Eastern, but there are some domestic, too. Ever hear of a group called the Citizen’s Army of Virginia?”

“Vaguely,” she replied.

“They were somewhat prolific a while back, liked to blow things up. Killed sixty people one time.”

“Fifty-seven,” Katia couldn’t help but correcting. She detected a slight narrowing of Spiller’s eyes, and she knew he had his doubts about her. She wondered what he thought he knew. She leaned back, watching him. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask me.”

“Actually I do have a few questions,” Spiller said, also leaning back. He sounded a little like a cop now. She expected nothing less. “You seem to know a lot more than you reasonably should. Why?”

“I have a crazy aunt who says I have a psychic gift, a ‘knowing’, she calls it. Truth is I have a natural gift for the subtle cues that indicate certain moods, matching them with context, and deducing what the cues mean in a situation. My brother’s been helping me cultivate it. He has similar skills that help him in business. He’s an investment banker.”

“I see.” He seemed to relax a little. She was putting some of his doubts to rest.

“It’s…genetic,” she added. He nodded in understanding.

“That about settles it for right now,” Spiller said. “Do you have any more questions?”

“Uh yeah, what do you recommend to drink at this place? I’m afraid I’m painfully new to this city and have yet to figure out what to avoid.”

“Good idea.” Spiller ordered them all drinks, and Katia smiled a little, showing she relaxed some around him. She decided to move on to a few more questions for her thesis.

***

It took forty-five minutes of questions and beverages, and gradually, subtly convincing him to drink more coffee, for the director to ask to be excused to the bathroom. She said something to the effect of, “Actually I should go, as well,” and made note of the fact that two went with Spiller, and two went to watch her. She also noted that they hung out outside the ladies’ room, while the men with Spiller went into the room with him. Sounds of a struggle would alert the men in the men’s room, including Spiller. Katia had to be careful.

She waited several minutes after the flush as she washed her face and hands, then dried them and slipped carefully out the door, jabbing both men behind the neck at once and easing them to the floor, backing them both into the ladies’ room as they went. She propped them up on toilets and slipped out again, looking around. Nobody noticed a single thing amiss, and, importantly, no one was looking toward or heading to the bathrooms. She stepped into the men’s room, subduing both guards there the same way she had the two in front of the ladies’ room. One of the men grunted as she closed in, pinching the back of his neck as hard as she could. She let them drop, and Spiller stepped away from the urinal, looking around and locking eyes with her. His eyes went wide, and she stood, moving in and smiling a little. “I lied,” she whispered. His eyes widened still further, and he moved toward the exit. She stepped deftly in front of him. “Ah ah ah,” she said, wagging a finger.

Spiller stepped back, reaching for a gun, opening his mouth to shout. “Useless,” Katia replied. “They’re out too, and the man at the table can’t hear you.” Spiller started to shake a little, and reached for his phone. Katia stepped over a limb of an unconscious guard, almost sliding over the floor in front of him, sliding her hand into his pocket and rolling her phone over into her hand before taking a step back, crushing it in her hand like it was a piece of newspaper.

“What are you?” Spiller asked.

“I’m an Agent,” Katia replied, throwing the phone aside and moving toward him again. _The strength, the speed, the intelligence, is right there, locked inside her DNA._ Effortlessly she shoved him against the wall, her hands locked around his throat. He watched her, bug-eyed and open-mouthed, as his face turned red and his body twitched. His hands went to hers, trying to pull them off, but it felt to Katia like he was just moving lazily, not trying at all. His face started to turn purple after a few minutes, and his movements became more erratic, controlled by the limbic system, vain efforts to get away. The hue of purple deepened, and his efforts slowed, became heavier, limper. His hands fell off her wrists. Finally his whole body went limp against the wall; Katia held on for several minutes to assure brain death, and when he was fully blue and she could no longer feel a pulse, she let him fall. The corpse slumped against her, and she slung it over her shoulders in a fireman carry. There was an emergency exit at the back of the bathroom, and she slipped through it into an alleyway that looked like it could use a cleaning.

She spotted a car and walked over to it, pleased to find it not only unlocked, but still running. She propped Spiller up in the back seat as if he was sleeping and climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling out and navigating to a main road. Katia fished her phone out of her pocket and dialed “Tobias’s” number.

***

47’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up and answered. “Katia.”

“Spiller’s out,” Katia replied. “I’m disposing of him now.”

“Well done, Katia.”

“What about you, any luck with Jason Shaw?”

“None yet, but another load of troops touched down twenty minutes ago. They’re using personal aircraft now.”

“Why didn’t they start with that?”

“Why do you think?” He was testing her, and they both knew it.

“To not spook Martin.”

“Exactly.”

“Jason Shaw is on one of those flights. Find where they land and set up eyes.”

“Well, it seems the student has become the teacher, to some extent.” He heard her laugh just slightly, and his tone softened a little, into something resembling affection. “Thank you, Katia.”

“For what?”

“For your advice.”

“Oh. Uh…you’re welcome.”

“When are you flying back?”

“I’ve got another two weeks. I seem to have overestimated how much time I needed. I’m a little nervous because it feels like it was too easy.”

“Was it?”

“Two men watching me, three on him, probably more throughout the café. I waited until he was alone, in the restroom, though he took two bodyguards with him, and two went to watch me. I subdued all four and strangled him against the wall.”

“Strangulation requires a lot of physical force. Are you sore? Tired?”

“No.”

“It wasn’t too easy. You are more than capable.”

“Wow… thanks.”

“Of course.” 47 stood, moving to the door. “I’ll begin looking for Verax’s touch down site.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you.” He paused just slightly, though he knew she would notice. “And same to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Goodbye.” He hung up when she said her farewells, as well, and closed the door behind him, getting into the car and pulling out, scanning the sky.


	51. 2007: A Young Clone Makes Himself Known

“Turn right there,” the man said, pointing through the two front seats. Shaw turned, and Ian looked over his shoulder at their captive, as if to ask if he was sure. But Shaw looked at him and nodded. Ian nodded in turn, accepting his man’s word for it. Shaw glanced in the rearview mirror at the car behind theirs, containing Jackie, Powell, Victor, and Phil.

They had agreed that the scientist would get them to the front gate, and while they hadn’t told the scientist this, he would be turned over to the guards as a mole, and shot. Ian himself never had his guys shoot anyone unless it was absolutely necessary and _never_ to kill. It was only to injure and slow down a target. But he had no problems letting other people take care of that business for him.

“Here,” the man said, and the two cars parked on the dirt road, in front of a looming chicken wire fence ringed with barbed wire. “Let me out here. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Very well,” Ian said.

“Wait,” Shaw said. “The cameras.” He looked over his shoulder at the man. “Do something about the cameras,” he ordered. Most of the guards inside weren’t expecting more than the scientist and perhaps the captured Shaw, as well, but no guests, certainly not who Shaw and Ian were bringing to the party.

The scientist gave a shaky nod, and climbed out of the car, staggering up to the gate to converse with the guard. Shaw took his gun into his hand, resting his elbow against the edge of the car. If the scientist looked back, Shaw wanted him to know he was armed and ready. They talked for several minutes, the scientist getting more and more frantic as time wore on and starting to glance over his shoulder. Shaw could tell his intended message was getting across. The guard followed his gaze.

“Shit,” Shaw muttered. “Get out,” he said urgently to Ian, who scrambled to unbuckle his seatbelt and toss himself out the passenger door. Shaw wasn’t far behind. But by then guards were already taking aim, and some had even begun to shoot at the car. “GO!” he yelled to the people in the second car, who were already pouring out. They took cover behind the cars.

“OK now what?” Phil asked as bullets scored the cars, shattering glass and puncturing the metal.

“We force our way in,” Shaw replied.

“So we die?” Jackie demanded.

“She’s got a point,” Ian said. “Can’t you get in touch with someone inside?”

But then the shooting died down. Ian’s first thought was that they had run out of bullets, but when he peered up over the hood of the rear car, he saw the truth. The guards that had come upon them were lying dead in the road. The guard in the tollbooth was cowering, and the scientist’s eyes were fixed on a point beyond the gate. Ian followed his eyes and spotted a young boy, roughly ten, holding a machine gun almost as big as he was. He was in scrubs, and lifting his head from the rifle so he was no longer looking down the scope. Just out of sight he saw flickers of movement. More guards were moving in.

“Tell the guards to stand down or I shoot the doctor!” the kid yelled, taking aim again. The scientist backed up a few steps, hands in the air. The guard in the booth ordered the others to halt, and the boy looked up. Ian noted that all this time, he still hadn’t lowered his weapon.

“Who is that?” Ian asked in a soft whisper, looking at Shaw.

“That’s Damian, 318,” Shaw replied, peering over the hood himself.

The kid fixed his gaze on the scientist. “Who brought you here?” he demanded. With a shaky hand, the doctor pointed to the cars parked on the side of the dirt lane. The kid turned toward them, creeping forward and staring down the scope. Shaw stood and stepped back, into plain view. Damian looked up, and his eyes brightened. “Shaw!” he yelled, delighted, and ran toward him, tossing the gun aside and springboarding off the hood of the car into Shaw’s arms.

Shaw laughed as he caught him. “Oh, how’re you doin’?” he asked, grinning ear to ear as he let Damian down. Damian wrapped an arm around Shaw’s waist and turned to look at the crowd Shaw had brought with them. Shaw rubbed his head a little. “This is my crew,” he said, looking down at the kid again. “Ian, and Phil and Victor and Powell, and Ian’s cousin Jackie.”

“I know you,” he said to Ian. “He talked about you a lot.” Ian’s eyes moved slowly, from Damian to Shaw. He was dumbstruck by Damian’s simple, and simply stated, words. Shaw simply nodded, and Ian looked back at the kid again.

Shaw took a step away and turned to face him. “We need your help,” he said, resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “We appreciate what you just did but we have to get inside the compound, OK?”

“Oh that’s easy. It’s the getting out that’s the problem,” Damian said. “Here, follow me.” He marched between the cars and back to the gate, pausing only to pick up his weapon and point it in front of him. Shaw followed, and after him came Ian, Powell and Victor, and finally Phil and Jackie. The boy threatened any guard that raised a weapon on the crowd, and Ian realized: he didn’t respond to whatever drugs controlled the clones, so he was unpredictable, at least in their eyes.

Someone in the guard force seemed to recover their spine, and opened fire on them. Shaw was the first to notice, and shouted, “Down!” as he turned to provide cover. Damian turned too, and fired a short hail of bullets, cutting through the gunman and two nearby guards.

What followed next, nobody could quite be sure. What started as a simple mission turned into chaos defined primarily by gunfire, shouting, running for cover, etc. Shaw and Damian covered for the rest of Ian’s crew as they moved toward the topside shed. Damian provided most of the cover fire, taking deadly aim at almost every opportunity. Victor tried to kick open the door in the din and confusion, but when he was met with nominal success, Shaw peeled off, punching in an access code and kicking it open almost effortlessly. “Everybody in!” Shaw shouted, and the crew flooded in, Damian last. Shaw and Powell bolted the door behind them. A few stray bullets pinged against the door, and the din was greatly muffled in the room.

Finally, Damian lowered the weapon, breathing a little bit heavily. “Stairs are in back,” he said. “Under a trap door.” Shaw nodded, and he and the rest of the crew turned toward the back, but Jackie had already found it. She stamped twice on the hollow spot in the floor and waved them over. She stepped off to allow Victor and Phil to open the door, and followed Ian, Shaw, and Damian down the steps.


	52. 2007: Infiltration, Part One

The tunnels were damp and somewhat oppressive with the darkness and atmosphere they carried. “They open up to corridors thirty feet ahead,” Damian said. “Where do you need to go?”

“First to wherever they keep the drugs,” Shaw said. “We have to shut down their little distributing operation first.”

“Roger. That corridor’s immediately to the right.”

Ahead, cold fluorescent lights revealed concrete corridors, and Damian turned at once to the right. The rest of the invading hostiles turned to follow him, and this time Shaw brought up the rear, making sure they all came out of the stairwell OK. Jackie leaned back a little, trying to whisper. “Why is everything so quiet?”

“Because they’re in training right now. We don’t have a lot of time to get to the drugs before they’re sprayed through the halls to keep them sedate while they’re being transported.”

“Oh,” Jackie said quietly, nodding.

“Here,” Damian said in a hushed voice. Everyone halted. The bolted door looked just like any other bolted door in the hallway, but as they peered in the window it became obvious that this was the place.

“OK,” Ian whispered. “How do we get in?”

Damian stepped back from the door, frowning a little, tilting his head. His brows folded together, and he studied it for several moments before nodding definitively. “Shoot the lock,” he said. The group looked at each other, and Shaw stepped forward, unholstering a weapon. He pressed it into the lock and fired twice. The lock mechanism broke apart, triggering its default state and causing the door to pop open. He kicked it, and held it open. Powell and Victor rushed into the room, just as planned, and started breaking open the aerosolizers. Damian immediately stepped back, burying his face in his scrubs and turning away. No fumes escaped. Instead, Powell started draining the liquid chemicals down the labeled biohazard sink.

“It’s OK, kid, it’s not gonna hurt you,” Shaw said to Damian, resting a hand on his shoulder. Damian looked up at him, then leaned into his side. “C’mon, we’ve got other places to be. Where’re the others? Can you tell me where they are?”

Damian let his scrubs shirt fall, and started to breathe a little deeper again. “In the training rooms,” he said. “The younger ones need to learn how to fight.”

“How old’s the youngest?” Ian asked.

“Youngest who can fight? Six. Youngest in general? Three days.”

Ian blanched a little, and his eyes went to Shaw. “My God,” he couldn’t help but whisper.

“Keep it together,” Shaw replied. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Ian nodded, and stepped into the corridor, followed by Powell and Victor. “Lead the way,” he said to Damian.


	53. Interlude: 2015: Tracking Enemy Movements

“OK, here it is,” Riley said, pulling the drive out and handing it to Phil. He, Phil, and Jackie had been sitting in an improvised warehouse office for an hour and a half as Riley finished the code that was to deliver to them all of Verax’s inner workings. Phil and Jackie had been making frequent rounds, of about 10 to 15 minutes each, in case of another attack.

Now, Phil pocketed the drive and looked at Jackie. “What’s this morning going to do to our plans to go under?”

“I don’t know,” Jackie replied. “I don’t think Ian does, either. He hasn’t texted me a change of plans.”

“We might need to go to our fallback.”

“Riley, you got on the horn with Abigail?” Jackie asked.

“Not yet,” Riley replied, absorbing himself in something else on his laptop.

“What’s up?” she asked, walking over to him and looking over his shoulder.

He was tracking them, and by the looks of things, something wonky was going on in London. “Does Ian know about this?” Jackie looked at Phil, who was also watching now.

“If he doesn’t he will,” Phil said, folding his hands across his chest.

“They’re tracking down his brother. They found us, they’re gonna find him.”

“And they’re putting a lot of resources into it, too,” Riley said, scanning the screen. “That’s probably what let us get away with this for so long.”

“They were busy with other things,” Phil said.

“But why John?” Jackie asked. “What’d he do?”

“He knows too much,” Riley explained. “That’s always why big organizations want people dead.”

Phil raised his eyes, looking at Jackie. “What do you think?” he asked.

“He was right in 2007, he’s right now.”

***

Sadusky had been playing Ben Gates’s video confession tape, Martin Odum’s video confession tape, pouring over Maggie Harris’s notes, and replaying Riley’s interview tape, for the past several hours. It all seemed to indicate that the tapes were fake (hell, even their similar formatting was enough for Sadusky to be suspicious; he knew Ben, and Ben and Martin were _more_ than dissimilar enough that the fact that they expressed similar concepts would’ve made Sadusky more than a little suspicious), and his mind was heavy with the implications of the thing. It meant he was being used, as part of a massive cover up operation, and that very thought made him sick to his stomach.

As a law enforcement officer, he felt duty bound to get to the truth, and punish the responsible parties for a crime, no matter who they were. No matter how absurd the truth was, or how convoluted the story, he had a responsibility to the American people. And now he was staring at the truth, and his superior had asked for something entirely different. He asked for an innocent man.

His phone buzzed, and he answered almost immediately. “Sadusky.”

“Sir, it’s Harris,” Maggie said. “Are you watching the news?”

“Should I be?”

“Yes.”

Sadusky stood and walked into the living room, reaching for his remote and turning on the television. He flipped immediately to CNN, where the reporter was speaking over a big splash headline reading BREAKING NEWS: FBI DIRECTOR GONE MISSING. Sadusky nearly dropped his phone. “Do you know what happened?” he asked.

“He went to a café to meet a foreign college student, she wanted to ask him questions for her thesis on systems of government. He went to the bathroom, she did too and they never came out. Four guards were incapacitated, they couldn’t say much when they woke up. They were taken by surprise, possibly by a professional.”

“Now why would Verax…” he muttered to himself, trying to figure out where this was going. Why did Verax have Spiller killed? _Did_ Verax have Spiller killed? Verax’s enemies have a nasty habit of disappearing, but something about this felt…wrong.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Thinking aloud.” The way the evidence pointed, Spiller seemed to be on Verax’s side, if not Verax’s man, and suddenly he was missing and presumably dead. “Can you come by? I need to brief you, in private. Don’t worry, the place is squeaky clean.”

“Sir, is that…”

“Listen, Harris, I think we’re on to something, but I can’t talk at the office.”

“O-uh-OK. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Alright.” He hung up and stared at the TV, sighing. His mind stewed in his thoughts, turning over and over again the possibilities, the hunches and theories. He could do nothing else while he waited for Maggie’s arrival.


	54. 2015: Katia Van Dees Hears Her Brother's Voice

Katia had already gotten a new hotel room in a different hotel by the time news of Spiller’s disappearance (and the speculation that went with it) flooded all major national news networks. She had expected as much, given the nature of the target she demanded, and had been careful hiding him, as 47 would have been, and as he would have expected of her. She settled onto the bed, this time a solitary king-size, and lay back, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, letting the news anchor talk and talk and talk without bothering to absorb any of what he said.

Her first real hit. While it hadn’t gone completely unnoticed, she developed and executed a plan, and took great care in hiding the body somewhere where it wouldn’t be found, at least not for a long, long while. She wondered what 47 would think of her. Probably that she was still sloppy, but improving. She had to admit she could’ve been more careful, less impulsive. She rushed into it a little, should’ve planned more, relied less on her own raw physical strength.

She closed her eyes and exhaled. It was done now, and there was no point picking apart her methods. She would have more chances to improve in the future. She was already improving. She went from avoiding her battles to fighting them, and that was a big step forward. Katia took a moment to smile a little and be proud of herself.

She exhaled and pushed herself up, fishing her phone out of her pocket and looking through her messages. There was only one, 47 reporting in that he was in position. That was almost twenty-four hours ago. She sent him a quick check-in text, trying not to let her near constant paranoia and worrying tendencies get the best of her. She knew he wasn’t very talkative, but she had to be sure he was OK.

Katia accessed the hotel’s Wi-Fi and started searching, somewhat idly, into the history of 47’s target, a man named Jason Shaw, who ran a PMC called Verax, that has been active since the nineties, according to public records. According to the public website they had a variety of divisions one could work for, including a version of the CIA that answered only to Jason Shaw. There were contact details for the CEO, various other top-rung employees, and, and Katia found this very interesting, a page of “Notable Patriots”, or high-profile supporters of Verax. Katia clicked on the link, and scrolled through it, spotting names of Senators and tycoons and celebrities in Hollywood.

Senators… based on what Katia was discovering under her cover that sounded rather interesting. She frowned a little, ready to text 47 that Verax had at least one high-profile Senator and what to do about him, when she realized it had been fifteen minutes and 47 hadn’t texted her back. She decided to call instead.

Someone with a gravelly voice answered on the third ring. “Who’re you?”

“Who’re you?” she replied. “Where’s Tobias?”

“Who?”

“Bald man, Italian wool suit, barcode tattoo on his head? Tall? Ice blue eyes. Cold like a killer.”

“The big bald fuck that tried to kill me.”

Katia frowned, trying to work out how these people had gotten so close to him and possibly incapacitated him. She sighed silently, squeezing her eyes closed for a moment before opening them. “Let me speak to him.”

“Can’t.”

_I fucking swear if you’ve killed him…_ “You can and you will.”

“You’re not exactly in the position to give me orders.”

Katia let a wicked grin split her face. “Where’s Spiller?” she asked.

“Washington, D.C.,” Jason Shaw replied, with equal confidence.

“Wanna check that?”

He heard Jason Shaw order someone with him to contact Spiller, and she waited for the inevitable result. “No answer,” she heard a man say, somewhat panicked. Jason returned to the phone. “Where is he?”

“Still here,” she replied, still smirking. Then it fell, and her tone darkened dramatically. “Dead. Now. Let me speak to my brother.”

She could feel the atmosphere change a little. She hit back hard at Verax, and he was feeling it now. “Very well,” Jason Shaw finally said. She heard him brief her brother, his captive. “Bitch on the phone wants to talk to you.”

“Sophia,” 47 said, and Katia was relieved. There was nothing in his voice indicating anything other than mild annoyance at the way Jason Shaw talked about her. She dropped to the bed, letting her eyes fall closed.

“Sev, Toby, please just tell me you’re OK. Are you still in London?”

“I’m alright. I’m…sorry.”

“For?”

“Being hard on you. I made a mistake. I expect perfection of you but I…”

“Shut up.” To his credit, 47 fell silent. “Let me see where you are…” She paused, listening through the phone at 47’s surroundings, letting a picture of an old, abandoned warehouse blossom in her mind. She heard light traffic, indicating an evening hour, and nearby people were bustling into a low-grade pub. “I’ve got it,” she said. “I’ll be there soon. Stay alive for me, please.”

“I will.” She heard 47’s usual quiet strength, hardened determination, more distinctly this time. He was going to fight like hell. She had to be there as soon as possible. She nodded with a soft farewell and hung up, turning to grab her bag and leave when she found herself face to face with an older man flashing a badge.


	55. 2015: Sadusky Questions a Young College Student

Maggie and Sadusky had debriefed each other in his living room and then later in the car, as Maggie’s system had picked up Ms. Sophia Rieper’s phone signal and tracked it down, and they drove to the hotel in Washington, D.C., where she was currently staying. He didn’t even have to knock on her front door, she was already leaving when he caught her, flashing her badge. “Ms. Rieper?” he asked.

“…Yes,” the young woman replied.

“Agent Peter Sadusky, FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said as he pocketed his badge.

“My brother’s been kidnapped,” she said. “I have to catch a flight to London.”

“We’ll find him, Ms. Rieper.”

“No I know where he is,” she insisted. “If you want to ask me questions, can we do it on the plane?”

“Well, we can’t let you leave the country unescorted,” he said, stepping back and allowing her to leave the room. She closed it behind her and followed the officer down to the reception desk to check out. Sadusky led Sophia to a car and helped her into the back seat, and he climbed in behind the driver’s seat, next to a young woman with short-cut hair dyed blonde but not enough to hide her natural mouse-brown color completely. The woman did a double take over her shoulder. Sophia looked so small and young, fresh-faced, even, barely older than Maggie herself. Sophia folded her eyebrows a little and leaned back, as if finding the scrutiny uncomfortable.

“OK Ms. Rieper, let’s get started. Did you meet Director Spiller to talk about American law enforcement?”

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you speak to a public representative?”

“Same reason I gave him. I wanted to make sure I was getting the truth. I believe in honesty, and if I’m going to write an academic paper, I want it to be as honest as possible.”

Sadusky nodded. “You know he disappeared at the café where you met him, right?”

“I only heard later. I hid in the bathroom as soon as I heard the scuffle break out, I didn’t get a look at who could’ve done this.”

“Why didn’t you call for help?”

“I…I panicked,” she said. “I ran. I got out of there, because if I stuck around, if I tried to offer assistance, I’d…I thought I’d get killed.” She let nerves seep into her voice a little.

“They were pros,” the woman with Sadusky said to him. “Fear for her life is reasonable.”

Sadusky looked at her, and she shrugged. He looked back at Sophia, briefly, before returning his attention to the road. “Now, Ms. Rieper, you’re a person of interest in a disappearance and possible murder. Do you understand that?”

“Does that mean I’m a suspect?” Sophia asked.

“No, not exactly. It means you might have information that could lead us to a suspect.” He pulled into the parking lot of JFK International Airport, and looked over his shoulder at her more fully. “You’re sure you didn’t see anything?”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.”

“You sure you didn’t do this?” Sadusky asked. He was taking a big risk with that kind of question, when she seemed so nervous and ready to run already. He knew he risked spooking her.

“Spiller’s huge,” she said. “I’m, what, 5’6”? I’m surprised I have any upper body strength, I…” She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes a little. She got out of the car, and the agents followed. “Look at me. I’m slight. I’m small. If I…I couldn’t possibly…”

“Can you use a gun, Ms. Rieper?”

She shook her head. “I don’t like guns,” she said. “I can barely hold one. Tobias…Tobias wanted to teach me, but…” She leaned against the car, covering her mouth with one hand as she let her worries about her brother overtake her for a brief moment. Then she straightened, looking at the agents. “I’m…so sorry,” she said. “A lot’s been going on this week, I just…Please, let me find my brother. You can come with me if you want, absolutely, but…I have to know he’s OK. He’s all I have.”

“Where is he?” the woman asked.

“In London, in a warehouse. I know where it is. I’ll take you there.”

Sadusky and Maggie looked at each other, then at Sophia. “You go with us, and don’t leave our sight,” he said to her.

Sophia nodded. “Un-understood,” she said.

“Great.” He gestured for Sophia to follow, and Sadusky, Maggie, and Sophia walked into the airport lobby.


	56. 2007: Infiltration, Part Two

The small crew wound its way through the corridors to the training rooms, where Damian said his brothers were currently being kept, watched, driven through exercise after exercise. Damian stopped them suddenly, and peered around the corner at the two guards watching a pair of locked double doors. “Damn,” he whispered, looking back at them. “This’ll be tough. Leave the guards to me.”

“No,” Shaw said, stepping toward him and holding up a hand to stop him. Damian looked at him, as if uncertain suddenly, or unused to Shaw’s concern. “Let me go with you,” he added.

After a moment Damian just nodded. “OK. We go together.” Shaw nodded, and they got their weapons ready, easing around the corner. The guards noticed them at once, and one approached, ready to ask what they were doing ‘outside’, when Shaw decked him in the nose, dropping him at once. Now the other guard advanced, raising his arm. Damian opened fire. Shaw fired back up, but it took only a handful of bullets to kill the man, splattering his blood on the otherwise plain, sterile looking concrete walls.

Someone started jimmying the lock from the inside, and Shaw shot it out for them. The doors opened, revealing around 20 clones, ranging from Shaw’s age to about twenty or so, and a handful of ten to twelve year olds huddling behind the older ones. Damian seemed confused. “Wh-where are the others?” he asked.

“Are there other training rooms?” Shaw asked.

“Yes but they’re small, not in use during this time.”

“The other facility is in London, my guys can’t fly over there.”

“Then it comes to us,” Damian said. “We’re getting you out,” he said to the crowd of clones. “Grab your weapons from the armory.” The clones in front of the crowd looked at Shaw, who nodded, backing Damian. The lead clone nodded in response, and they began to file out of the room, following Shaw and Damian.

“These are all we found,” Shaw said to Ian. “The other two hundred must be at the larger facility in England.”

Ian nodded, taking in the clones. “Oh God, I don’t think I can get used to this,” he breathed.

“It’s OK. I’ll wear something really obvious so you know it’s me, OK?” Shaw said, taking Ian by the shoulders and looking him in the eye. Ian managed a weak smile as he nodded.

“Alright, let’s get them out of here and find the others.” Shaw nodded, and he, Damian, and the rest of the crew led the clones back through the corridors. It was Shaw’s turn to take the lead. The guards would’ve closed in on the main entrance and the training room, so security on his old way out would be relatively lax. If they got there in time before people started giving pursuit.

Shaw wove them through the corridors in a column two or three people wide for several minutes that felt like several hours before stopping in front of a rusted, beat up door that he was able to kick open. “Alright everybody through, one at a time,” he ordered, pointing to a small square tunnel at the back of the room, half-hidden behind a book case littered with tools. The older clones nodded, and started inching through the hole, one by one. Damian and Shaw held back, watching them, waiting for them all to get through. The youngest ones went last, followed by Damian, then Ian’s crew, Jackie, and finally Ian. Shaw went last, pausing only to grab Ian by the hand, give him a kiss, and let him go, following right behind him.


	57. 2015: Sophia Rieper Finds an Empty Warehouse

“So let me get this straight,” Sophia said. “Your theory is the missing director is connected to a merc company called Verax? And this company framed both Mr. uh…Odum and this…Gates character?”

“Sounds about right,” Sadusky replied. The three of them sat around a table in the first class section of the plane, and Sophia was grateful for the lack of bothersome flight attendants. “Do you know anything about that, Ms. Rieper?”

“I’m sorry, I…never thought to ask,” she said, shaking her head and looking up at him again. “The focus of my paper required only the basics of this system of government, covering all the necessities of a society: providing law and order, protecting freedoms, things like that. I didn’t…didn’t think about large companies that…from what you say abuse the system for…what, personal profit?”

“Well your guess is as good as ours,” Maggie said. “See we don’t…know what Verax wants, but we’ve run searches, they’ve got their hands in everything. Their own CIA, they’ve got the FBI, Senators, you name it they’ve got it.” The woman showed Sophia her laptop screen and she immediately recognized names from the “Notable Patriots” list on Verax’s website.

“Verax sure isn’t shy about who’s in their pockets,” Sophia said. “Most of these people are listed on their website.”

“That’s how we found them,” Maggie said.

“Like it or not, Ms. Rieper, you’re right in the middle of an investigation into this company,” Sadusky said.

“A company that isn’t afraid of stopping people from telling the world the truth about what they do.”

“What was your brother doing?”

“He was in a meeting, he works for an investment banking firm and was talking to some clients. He was taken earlier today, or possibly late last night. I don’t know why, I don’t recall him mentioning this company…”

“So as far as you can tell he was taken for no reason?” Sophia nodded, and Sadusky considered this, humming softly.

“We’re gonna find him,” Maggie said, laying her hands over Sophia’s. “After all you said you know where he is.”

“Right, but this is a long flight. They might move him, and God knows what they’re doing to him…”

“Don’t worry, Sophia,” Sadusky said, and it occurred to her this was the first time he’d used her first name. “We’ll find him, and he’ll be OK. If he needs medical help we’ll get it for him. Alright?”

Sophia nodded. “Thank you.”

“ETA three hours,” Maggie said, typing away on the laptop.

“After that we’ll need a car,” Sophia said. “The warehouse we’re looking for is on the river, near the edge of London, not the _City_ of London, mind, London. It’d be south of the river, traffic in the area was light when I called, but I imagine it’d be light now, too. It didn’t sound like an oft-frequented part of town.”

“What?” Maggie asked.

Sophia looked at them in turn, taking in their shocked expressions and, for a moment, feeling a vague, mild panic. “I told the director about my gift,” she explained. “My crazy aunt calls it a psychic ability, but it’s more like…I’m good at hearing things, and reading people, and putting all those pieces together to make judgments about situations. It helps keep me alive.”

“I see,” Sadusky said.

“My brother has similar skills. I think it’s genetic more than supernatural.”

Sadusky nodded. “Okay,” Maggie said slowly as she turned back to her computer. “Anything else we need to know?”

“That’s about it,” Sophia replied.

“Like I said. We’ll find him.”

***

The plane landed a bit ahead of schedule, and thanks to the two FBI agents, Katia was breezed through Customs. She helped pick out a rental car, and they started driving. Katia guided them, weaving through streets and alleys until they reached the edge of town where the warehouse was. “There!” she said, excited now, pointing to a building on the left side of the road. Sadusky pulled over, and the three of them disembarked from the car.

Katia ran up to the door and thrust her shoulder against it, pushing it in and bursting into the warehouse. Then she stopped, and stared, and looked around. The warehouse was empty.

_He’s not here._

Her heart sunk into her stomach. For a moment her mind was frozen. She could do or think of absolutely nothing.

Then, she spun on her heels and bolted, hearing the agents shout after her but not hearing what they said. She just had to run.


	58. 2015: Phil McGregor Is Given A Tour

Phil took a deep breath as he walked through the metal detector and allowed his bag to be scanned. Verax’s main office was one of the most secure places he’d tried to enter, at least without having to blow things up first. He allowed the man to pass a metal detector all over his body and another to pat him down, and then both he and his bag were given the all clear. A man pointed him down the hall to the recruiting office, and he followed, looking around, taking in his surroundings.

He reached the door of a gentleman named Anderson and knocked. “Come in,” was the lilting reply, and he carefully slipped in through the door. The man finished his thought and then looked up from his paperwork. “Ah, so you must be Mr.…”

“McGregor,” Phil replied.

“Have a seat.” Phil complied, setting his bag on the floor next to him. “Tell me, what can you do?”

“Fight. Shoot. I’m really good with hardware, y’know like computers, but I can’t code to save my life. I’ve tried to learn several times but just can’t wrap my brain around it.”

Anderson shrugged. “Well, if one man could do everything companies wouldn’t exist.” Phil couldn’t help but chuckle a little and comment on the truth of the statement. “How good are you at undercover work?”

_You tell me when you’re not getting a paycheck anymore._ “I’d say I’m…decent. Could be better, though.”

“Hmm, and what kind of firearms are you capable of using?”

“Small arms, pistols. I could handle the bigger stuff in a tight spot, though.”

“Mm, I see… And tell me, you said you’re good with hardware. Can you set up surveillance?”

“Set up, monitor, take down, clean, plant, you name it I can do it.”

“Good. I’ll arrange for you to speak to a recruiting officer for surveillance and undercover work. In the meantime do you have any questions?”

_I’ve got plenty._ “Uh yeah, I heard you were the guys to talk to if the military needed anything done. I mean God knows the US Government’s not gonna do it,” he added with a slight laugh. “Quite the rep to have, and far as I could tell on your website you’ve only been active since the nineties. Did you always take on the big fish or is there something I’m missing?”

“I’m glad you asked. The name Verax is a result of a restylization effort in the nineties, like you saw. A complete overhaul. Before, we were small time and low-key. Jason Shaw took the company over and completely redid everything, and good thing, too.”

“I see. Sounds like quite the mover and shaker this…Jason Shaw.”

“Better believe it. You’ll do great things workin’ for him.”

“I imagine I will,” Phil said, shaking Anderson’s hand.

“I’ll give a call over to covert ops and they can send an officer to speak to you about training and placement. In the meantime, whaddaya say to a little tour of the place?”

“I say sounds great!”

***

“Now I can’t tell you much about what you’re about to see, since you’re entry level and a lot of this is above your pay grade, but I want you to know where everything is just in case. If you get transferred, or shit happens and you gotta cover or do somebody else’s job, I need you in the right place. Mr. Shaw needs you in the right place,” Anderson explained as they descended in the elevator a few floors to a subbasement. Phil couldn’t help but think this was less patriotism and more idolatry of a single militant man. Frankly it scared him a little.

“Right,” he said. “Gotta be prepared and all that. I worked for a guy who had a small crew, like four of us total. All of us had a lot of different skills and though we had our strengths we still had to be able to step up to the plate. Like this one time I chased a guy across a buncha rooftops. I didn’t wanna shoot him, believe you me, but I learned how to shoot in case I had to. I didn’t, the guy was smart, but if I had to, I coulda.”

Anderson smiled. “You get it.” He beamed at Phil, and Phil could tell he wanted to give him a playful shoulder slug. “Now, speaking of shooting,” he said as he looked back at the elevator, “can you kill?”

“If there’s no other option. And I’m a big believer in having options. I won’t kill a guy on sight for no reason, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good, you got a head on your shoulders. Keep it that way and you’ll go far. Your basic training officer might actually like you.” Phil chuckled a little, and the elevator stopped before he could comment. “Alright, since you say you’re good with hardware, the first thing you need to know is where our most important hardware is,” Anderson said as he stepped out of the elevator. Phil followed, watching as he swiped a passkey and stepped inside the temperature-controlled room, a perfect 68.7 degrees Fahrenheit, according to the thermometer. “This is where we keep our main hardware, on which our entire database is stored. It’s important everything here works properly, you understand?”

“Understood,” Phil replied, taking in the aisles of towers, full of motherboards and cables. He could spot the main terminal at once, and was kind of surprised that Anderson had played right into his hands. “Can I take a look around?” he asked.

“Stay in sight or earshot,” Anderson said. “You get ten minutes.”

“Thanks. I’m a bit of a junkie,” he admitted with a weak smile, and then he started weaving through the aisles and around the cables. Once he was sure Anderson was only watching for the principle of the thing and had long since slacked in his duties, he slipped the drive out of his bag and set an immediate course for the main terminal.

His heart started to pound a little, but he tried to focus, breathe a little, just as Shaw had taught him. Redirect your nervous energy, just bite the bullet and do it. He took a deep, silent breath and forged on. In three minutes he reached the terminal, and he was already scanning it by the time he reached it, searching for a USB port that wouldn’t be immediately detected. Riley’s little virus needed a good several hours minimum, and Phil spotted just the place, between two thick cords and facing the wall. He uncapped the drive, letting the lid dangle from the cord attaching it to the drive, and slipped it between the cords, carefully sliding it home and stepping back.

Phil took a circuitous route back to where Anderson stood, acting a little like a tourist with the six minutes he had left. Even so, he reached Anderson in four minutes, leaving two minutes to spare. “See everything you wanted to see?” Anderson asked.

“I did,” Phil replied. “Thanks a lot. This place is so cool!”

“Glad you think so. Now, come with me.” With that, Anderson led him back to the elevator.


	59. 2015: Ian And Martin Speak Frankly

Martin watched Ian for several moments as he set his glass of water down and Ian poured over pages from a legal pad, covered with blue ink. “Can…can I talk to you?” he asked in a low voice. “In private?”

Ian looked up, at first surprised. “Of course,” he whispered back. After several moments, realizing Martin was not yet ready to speak, he stood and walked to the entry to the dining room, folding the glass doors closed and locking them.

“Thank you,” Martin said as Ian returned to his seat.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been thinking, about my memories, and the time I just talked, memories coming to me like words, without pain. Just like this.”

“And?” Ian asked gently as he leaned forward, eyes and focus fixed on Martin.

“I want you to talk to me,” he said. “About my past, about everything before MI6. About you and our sister and our family and our early years.”

Ian nodded. “You were born same day I was,” he said with a smile. “When we were boys we…exploited it ruthlessly, as most twin boys do. We switched identities constantly to get out of trouble. Now I…regret doing that because I’m starting to wonder if you’ve ever had a sure sense of yourself. You seemed alright then, but after boarding school…”

“Wait…boarding school? When was I ever in boarding school?”

“Due to our antics our father accidentally sent the wrong one of us to boarding school, as we could only afford to send one, and our mother thought I should go instead. It was a huge fight, almost constant your first year away. I hated the screaming and yelling so much. I hid in books, in a tree house. I found your collection of James Bond novels, and the…the things you scrawled in them. I regret forgetting that it was so bad for you that you felt the need to…create characters.”

“What sort of characters?” Martin asked.

“There were only two back then: Lincoln Dittmann came about after you came back for your first summer. Something was different about you then. You were sunken, and had withdrawn into yourself. I could guess what had happened, but I dared not mention it. But what I guessed at was the reason I sheltered you from Father when he found out about your marks. They…weren’t the best.”

Martin smirked. “I must’ve failed everything,” he said, chuckling.

“Something like that, yes,” Ian replied, also smiling. Then his face turned serious again. “But it was you who cracked first. You launched a Molotov cocktail into the living room at the age of twelve, in the middle of a violent fight between our parents. It severely injured Father but didn’t wound Mother a bit, besides the shock and terror incurred.”

“Wh-what happened while I was in boarding school?”

Ian shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that whatever it was changed you. Drastically.”

Martin nodded. He could fill in the gaps on his own, if he was ever so inclined. It explained also why he was reluctant to remember on his own. It was like his brain knew he wasn’t in the state to handle that kind of revelation. “Tell me more about the characters.”

“Dittmann was…very stutter-y, had a speech impediment and a bizarre compulsion to be noticed, even in childhood. He dreamed of being a hero, like James Bond, your notes said. There was another, Dante Auerbach. He _was_ James Bond, all bravado and swagger and talking back, a lot of attitude, a lot of bravery, willingness to stand up for himself. I think it was Dante drove you to throw that cocktail.”

Lincoln Dittmann, Dante Auerbach. They were both there, in the very beginning. Martin wondered what they knew, if they were immune to the memory loss that plagued him. “You said I wrote this down?” Martin asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I…see the notes?”

“They’re in the back pages of old editions of early James Bond novels, lovingly read, I might add. I’ve been keeping them in storage, like you asked me too before you left for Six. I have the key, and I’d be happy to take you, but we need to be careful. They’re closing in on you and it wouldn’t be safe for you to be out and about with them crawling through town.” Martin nodded. “I’m sorry. I want you to remember as much as you do. To tell you the truth I miss John. In adulthood you got your spark back. I became successful as a criminal and that gave you security and protection, and you loosened up, unwound some. You were forever changed by boarding school, but you were much more like your old self. We were closer than ever. It was nice. Even when you disappeared for months or years on a mission I knew you’d eventually come back. You’d tell me everything you could, usually events that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with your cover.” Ian chuckled a little. “And I’d tell you stories too. I’d tell you all about my jobs, my crewmates. I even told you about Shaw. I couldn’t tell you about Shaw’s apparent death, because you disappeared in Iraq and I was in federal prison. I couldn’t tell you about him coming back and our first fight with Verax and Octagon either. You were still missing. No one knew or could tell me where you were. I admit I…gave up trying. I almost gave you up for dead. I stopped thinking you’d come back, certainly.”

“I was in the FBI,” Martin said. “Doing the same thing I was apparently doing for years.”

Ian nodded. “At least you were safe. I know a man in the FBI, a good man. Named Sadusky.”

“I’ve heard of him. Works big counterterrorism cases: theft of the Declaration, some say he solved the case of the kidnapped President.”

Ian smirked. “Both of those are Ben Gates.”

“You admire that man, don’t you.”

“He’s my friend, and sure we’ve…had our rough spots but we’ve patched things up since then. Besides I feel a little bit bad that it was my bull-headedness that got him in prison. If it wasn’t for me Verax wouldn’t have gotten to him.”

“When did they do that?”

“2007. We were working different problems: I was helping Shaw free his clone brothers from Octagon, he was trying to figure out what Page 47 of the President’s Book of Secrets led to. Our paths ended up intersecting and it was easy for them to frame him, like they did with you. Down to the confession tape.”

“Same format?”

“Same format.”

Martin looked down at the table, one hand running over his mouth in a gesture of thought and uncertainty. Ian could tell his mind was loaded. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Ian said to him.

“They’ll never let him go,” Martin whispered after a few moments. “They have too many people. Powerful people. Senators, CEOs, the Attorney General… you name it Verax has them in their pocket.”

“They’ve got deep pockets,” Ian quipped, smirking. His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the message. “Not for long, though,” he added, straightening. “Got a text from my man, by which I mean my crewmate, not Shaw. He says the flash drive is in place. My cousin’s fiancé planted a virus on it that gives us unfettered access to documents and money. We’re going to drain their account and coordinate a leak of all documents, public.” He set the phone down and leaned back, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his lap, a little like he was adjusting a suit jacket that wasn’t there. “Any clue what we might expect to find?”

“This’ll be big,” Martin said. “They have hands in all sorts of illegal operations, stealing in Iraq, and assassinations, attacks against US and British forces to protect their secrets, and I can’t remember what all else. This could be bigger than WikiLeaks, if you’re careful, or not careful depending on perspective.”

Ian grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”


	60. 2015: Agent 47 Does His Job

“Who ordered the hit on me?” Jason Shaw demanded, getting into 47’s face. 47 said nothing, as he had resolved to do for hours now. Even his handler was surprised at how long he could be silent. “Who ordered the hit?!” Jason Shaw was shouting now, and 47 had to close his eyes against the spittle. His captor straightened, turning to one of his armored comrades and gesturing for him to come forward. The man raised the butt of his rifle and slammed it into one of 47’s knees, just barely missing his kneecap. He raised the rifle to try again but Jason held up a hand to stop him.

47’s eyes went to the man as he turned back toward him. “You tell me who ordered the hit, I let you live. How’s that sound?”

47 maintained his resolute silence, assessing his target, his captor. He knew this would go on only so long. He had to wait out the rest of the day, but that fact didn’t bother him very much. He tilted his head, and frowned as if considering Jason’s offer, indicating it wasn’t quite good enough for him. “What the fuck do you want?!” Jason shouted. 47 scanned the crew with Jason, and shook his head. “Them? You don’t want them around?” 47 shook his head yes. “ _Then_ will you open your damned trap?” 47 simply shrugged.

Jason gave an exaggerated sigh, bowing his head. “Fine. Good enough for me.” He turned to the men with him and ordered them to wait outside. They looked around amongst themselves and filed out of the warehouse, leaving Jason alone with 47. Jason leaned forward until he was inches from 47’s face. “Now are you gonna talk? Tell me who ordered the goddamned hit on me.”

47 met him with a stone face, completely devoid of expression. “Figure it out,” was all he said. “Think about who you’ve angered in the past year, someone with enough influence and money to order a proper professional to kill you.”

Jason creased his brow, tilting his head at a strange angle. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nobody can touch me.”

“That was your first mistake.” Without warning, 47 kicked, striking Jason Shaw right between the legs and watching the man drop while he worked on the ropes around his wrists. They were tied astonishingly well, but he wouldn’t have been trained properly if he didn’t manage to find every knot’s weakness. Jason opened his mouth and started to call out for help when 47 struck again, kicking him in the jaw. The man’s voice left him before he could get the first syllable out. The knots were being more stubborn than 47 had initially anticipated. He took a deep breath, halting his struggles and trying to think. He remembered Katia’s ability to see the solution, find the right path to freedom.

He realized she was out there looking for him. She’d probably flown back over here to track him down and liberate him, target or no target.

Jason Shaw staggered to his feet, his hand over his face. 47 realized he’d made him bleed. “Who. Ordered. The hit?” he demanded again, glaring at 47 with nothing but rage.

“No answer yet?” 47 asked, taunting but otherwise flat and monotonous. “No idea who you’ve angered?” Finally the knots came loose, allowing him to duck to the side as Jason swung at him. He rolled across the concrete floor, gaining a feel for his state of armament, and looked around for something he could use. Jason, meanwhile, had nearly fallen into the chair, and was struggling a little to keep his footing as he turned to 47, who jumped to his feet, arcing his back as he stood. Jason moved toward him, and 47 punched him across the temple. Jason staggered into the chair, visibly dizzy and trying to stay conscious. He was exactly where 47 needed him to be, but something stopped him.

“What will happen if you die?” 47 asked, staring down at Jason, his split lips still bleeding freely.

“They’ll kill you?”

“Your men?”

Jason shook his head. “Just like in the US Army…never let anyone know who the commander is…but protect him…you think…killing me will topple Verax?”

“No,” 47 said simply. He knew he was part of a larger plan, of course, and that knowledge had guided his actions.

“No…The noose will tighten around you…until you’re dead. And whoever ordered the hit.”

“So you still haven’t figured it out.”

“I’m supposed to fucking know?!”

“You know everything else. You should be able to figure out who ordered the hit on you without my help.” This was an unusual case for 47, as he usually didn’t make it his business who ordered the hits he executed, but this time he couldn’t help but know who it was. He’d overheard when Diana spoke to him over the phone. However, he wasn’t about to divulge that information to the target in question. He looked at Jason Shaw, his body turned ninety degrees away from him. “I let you capture me,” he admitted. “And you missed something.” He removed his fibre wire from his pocket and walked around the chair, wrapping it around Jason’s neck as he realized exactly what had come upon him.

***

Katia finally dropped to her knees in Trafalgar Square, breathing heavily. The sun was starting to set, and she realized the chances were getting better and better that 47 would never be seen again. She reached for her phone, then threw it aside and rummaged around for some pocket change as she pushed herself to her feet and moved toward a public payphone. She closed the booth door behind her, inserted a few euro coins, and dialed 47’s cell number from memory.

It rang, and rang, and rang. With each ring Katia’s heart started to sink, and then on the fourth ring, someone picked up. “How did you—?”

“Sev!” Katia shouted. “Oh thank fuck!” She leaned against the glass wall and started to slide into a sitting position.

“Katia? Katia, how are you?”

“Fine. Just fine. What about you? Are you OK? Did you…”

“Yes. I’m alright.” She nodded, breathing something that sounded like an affirmative into the receiver. “What about you? Where are you?”

“Th-the Square, the one with the big lions,” she said. “I can’t use the burner phone anymore. The FBI…they’re tracking it as best they can. I don’t know how and I can’t think about that right now. I had to lie my arse off to the Feds, and right now I’m scared. I thought…I thought they were going to torture you, get you to admit to something, maybe even kill you. Please just…”

“Target eliminated,” he said, flat and emotionless and just the thing Katia needed to hear. Her whole body went limp with relief. “I let him take me, it got me close enough to do the job. I…didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I’m just… You’re a bloody genius. A bloody lethal genius,” she said as she smiled. She had to pull herself to her feet and insert another euro coin. “I’m glad you’re OK, and kind of impressed by you.”

“Thank you.” There were notes in his voice that told Katia he wasn’t very used to being complimented, only driven to do better.

“I’ll find you a hotel room, and call from their phone. OK?”

“Very well.”

“OK, talk to you soon,” Katia said, hanging up and taking a few moments to lean against the glass and recover. She desperately wanted a pill or three, but fought the urge to take them.

Finally Katia straightened and exited the booth, hearing a man behind her groan, “Bloody _finally_ ,” as she left. She closed her eyes as she walked across the Square, inhaling the fresh air, tasting the smog and exhaust that came with a city. She looked around at the evening crowd, people going to pubs or on their way home, some absolutely elated, some devastated, most in the middle. Katia found she joined this group in her ambivalence. As absolutely thrilled as she was to know her brother was alive and well and had done his job, she was, more than anything, exhausted. She turned and walked down one of the streets, a main drag where she could feel she would find a hotel 47 would find acceptable.

Three blocks later she walked into the lobby of one such hotel, checked in under the name Sophia Rieper, with Tobias’s credit card, and offered cash for the first night. After accepting her change and the keycards she walked over to the elevator. As it ascended, she could already feel someone waiting for her, on her floor, in front of the room she just checked out. How did they know? Already? Wasn’t everything supposed to be destroyed and leaked to the public?

Then, two floors away, she realized he wasn’t a hostile.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened moments later, allowing her to step into the hallway and approach the door of the suite. She took three steps and stopped, staring at the man watching her, his hands in his pockets, his bald head and piercing red eyes.

Katia’s bag dropped to her feet. Even from this distance she could tell who it was. It was another brother.


	61. 2015: Katia Experiences Another Family Reuinion

Shaw’s phone buzzed, and Ian stirred, rolling gently off Shaw’s chest to pick it up. It was a text message from a hidden number alerting him to the fact that the contract had been completed, and payment was expected in the morning, or as soon as possible. There was a small grace period, but it was made very clear he was expected to pay. Shaw stirred gently, moaning softly and asking, “What is it?” as he stretched gently.

“You’ve got an alert,” Ian replied, turning his phone screen toward him. “Job is done. Spiller and Jason Shaw are dead.”

“Means it’s time to pay up,” Shaw said, stretching more deeply before collapsing against the bed with a sigh.

Ian leaned back against Shaw’s chest. “I’m ready to say you can take care of it tomorrow morning, first thing, but I’m afraid you’ll forget.”

Shaw smirked. “I never forget to pay people like this.” He kissed Ian’s forehead. “Besides, it’s still evening. Someone should be there. I’ll splash some water on my face and drop off that suitcase.”

“Yeah I stashed it in the closet, on the top shelf,” Ian said, as Shaw got up and started moving about, getting blood moving more fully through his system again. He stretched up for the suitcase and pulled it down, setting it on the floor as he reached for his combat boots.

“In case of hostile activity,” he explained when he saw Ian’s puzzled expression.

“They won’t hurt someone who pays them,” he said, sitting up, getting even more puzzled.

“It’s not them I’m worried about. They got to Jackie, and they might get to me, too. I’ll wake the others on my way out. You need the protection, love.”

Ian nodded. “Get back safely, OK?”

Shaw smiled. “Better believe I will.” He bent down for a kiss, and Ian wrapped his arms around Shaw’s torso and pulled him back until he was bent over. He could feel Shaw laughing into the kiss, and broke apart just far enough to say, with a grin spanning his whole face, “I have to go, sweetheart.”

“Oh OK,” Ian said, with a lot more mock than indignation. “If you insist.” Shaw continued to smile as he straightened and shrugged on his leather jacket. He picked up the suitcase, and gave Ian a final gentle kiss before walking out of the bedroom. Moments later Ian heard the gentle click of the door opening and closing as Shaw exited the apartment. Ian sighed, closing his eyes and rolling toward the warm patch Shaw left behind on the sheets.

***

23 stared at the woman, taking in her shock. He removed his hands from his pockets. “I haven’t tried to enter, I swear,” he said.

“How did you even—?”

“We both know our brother. He’d pick a place like this to rest, you know that and I know that. This is the safest floor, and only room available. I knew you’d ask for that.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m 23.”

A look of recognition dawned on Katia’s face. “You’re from the lab… You’re one of the survivors that disappeared…”

23 nodded. “How about you pick up your bag. I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear, but I need to talk to you. I’ve got a lot to say that you need to know.”

“About what?”

“I’m CIA. I’ve been working undercover in Verax for years. I know their movements and patterns better than anyone.”

“And why are you talking to me? Why not your superior officer?”

“You and 47 are the ones carrying out the hit. You’re the ones with the highest need to know status for what I have to say.”

Katia considered him, looking for a lie. She found none, so she picked up her bag and walked up to the door, swiping the key. She popped the door open just slightly and looked over her shoulder at him, taking him in now that he was closer. He seemed just as honest as ever, and she realized something else that was different about him: his hooded sweatshirt and baggy dark pants. “No suit?” she asked.

“Too noticeable,” 23 replied. “The eyes are bad enough I don’t need people coming after me after realizing I’m an Agent.” He said the last two words in a low voice, as if someone might merely hear them at that moment.

“I’ll let you sweep the hotel room, but I don’t feel anything,” she said. “Sound good?”

“Thanks, Q.”

“Q?”

“Some of us called you Quatre back in the day. Poor 40 didn’t. He got too confused by it and he’s not exactly the most…capable, mentally. He’s not slow or disabled, no, but he’s not up to Agent standards.”

Katia blanched a little, remembering a small group teasing one of the clones. She swallowed, forcing the memory away and opening the door fully. “Call me Katia,” she said, as she turned and gestured to allow him entry.

“Katia?” he asked, then nodded, as if deciding he liked it. “Sounds German.”

“I’ve been all over,” she said, “but I always returned to Berlin. The name helped me blend in some.”

“Makes sense. It would be…Katia Van Dees, no?”

“Yeah.”

23 walked into the hotel room, and Katia closed the door after them. 23 began to sweep the room thoroughly, like a trained pro. He checked under mattresses, behind lamps, in the closet and bathroom, and then nodded to Katia, indicating the place was clear. She nodded back and switched on the TV to a news station, keeping the volume relatively low, and he walked deeper into the hotel room, taking a seat on one of the beds and looking up at her. “Jason Shaw is the tip of the iceberg,” he explained. “Killing him is a step in the right direction, don’t get me wrong, but there’s more, much more. Not just the Senators and CEOs, beyond that. Beyond even 90% of the world energy market. Verax’s secrets have secrets, and the personnel have a very vested interest in _keeping_ those secrets. But I don’t.”

“What kind of secrets?” Katia asked, narrowing her eyes at him and turning her head at an angle.

“Jason Shaw, while CEO, is not the true brains or power behind Verax. That position belongs to a Dr. Otto Wolfgang Ort-Meyer.”

“Ort-Meyer, why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because he used to work with your father.”


	62. 2007: An Early Flight To London

“Some of us have to fly over to England,” Shaw explained as he walked back into the hotel room the crew rented for their base of operations after Jackie decided the safe house was unsafe. Damian stayed with the crew, and watched them now as Shaw returned from settling the clones they’d already rescued in hotel rooms occupying the entire floor above them.

“Who should it be?” Ian asked, with the tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

“Me, Damian, Jackie, Riley too if he wants,” Shaw said with a slight shrug.

“Team of four, you think you can do it?”

“Two of us are clones, modified a little or a lot,” Damian said. “For strength, speed, skill…”

Ian watched him, feeling a strange blend of pity and awe. “We can do it,” Shaw said, saving Damian from saying more than he had to, or had already. Ian looked at him and nodded.

“Get your ass home safely, you hear me?” Ian said sharply.

Shaw nodded curtly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Ian’s voice softened, and he unfolded his arms from across his chest and wrapped Shaw in a tight hug. Shaw hugged back just as firmly, breathing deeply into his skin. After a moment they let go of each other, and Shaw looked over at Riley.

“Wanna come with us?” he asked.

Riley looked up at Shaw, then scanned the room, seeking out Jackie. She watched him, her arms folded across her chest, and shrugged, indicating that it was his choice entirely. He looked back at Shaw. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“Compromise their entire security network, knock out their cameras. Every other electronic disruption you can think of. Can you do that?”

Riley shrugged. “Easy,” he said.

“Great,” Shaw said. “Damian, Jackie, and I will handle the rest. We’re counting on the confusion you cause, alright?”

“I’ll cause as much as I can.”

Jackie walked up to him, smiling, and squeezed his shoulder. “You can do it,” she said.

“One of us should probably cover him,” Damian said. “If he gets shot the whole thing goes out the window.”

“Right,” Shaw said.

“I’ll do it,” Jackie said. “I’ll keep a real solid eye on him.” She shook his shoulder ever so slightly and gently, and Riley smiled up at her.

“That leaves you and me to move in. Think we can do it on our own?” Damian asked.

“If we take out the drugs first,” Shaw said. Damian nodded.

“OK, I’ll book us a flight,” she said, walking over to where Ian had lain his laptop, opening it and signing in effortlessly. “How long you think we’ll need?”

“A week, maybe two.”

“OK. I’ll book us a couple weeks. Should give us plenty of time to do what we need to.”

“Right on,” Ian said, smiling a little at Jackie. “You lot think you’ll be alright?”

“Provided nothing goes pear-shaped,” Shaw replied. “Even then we can handle a lot of pear-shaped situations. It’s what we do, remember?”

“We may not be the ones they call when things go wrong but we are the ones that can get ourselves out when things go wrong,” Jackie said, without looking up from the screen. “OK I’ve got us a flight for four that leaves tomorrow at 4:30 AM from the local airport. Set your alarms, boys, it’s gonna be an early morning.”

“Roger,” Damian and Shaw said in unison. Riley sighed heavily and bowed his head, closing his eyes. Jackie could almost swear she heard him curse under his breath.

***

Damian was the first to rise that morning, at precisely 3:03:32 AM, and slipped off the sofa, grabbing a small duffel bag the group loaned to him, containing basic toiletries. Damian planned to fill it with clothes his size once they got to London, so now it was rather light and could serve as a carry-on. He looked over, and shook Riley’s shoulder several times, somewhat violently, until he jolted awake, stirring Jackie next to him. “Is it time?” he mumbled, struggling to force his eyes open as he sat up and leaned toward Damian.

“You can sleep on the flight,” Damian said.

“C’mon, time to get up,” Jackie whispered, pulling herself upright as well. She gave Riley a shake on the shoulder to help him regain consciousness. Damian slipped past them on the floor toward the master bedroom, where Ian, though asleep, seemed to cling to Shaw for dear life.

He tapped them both, and Shaw stirred at once. “Time to go?” Shaw asked.

“Yeah.”

Ian stirred right about then, and squeezed Shaw a little tighter. Shaw looked over, and kissed his forehead. “I have to go, babe,” he said.

“I’ll keep a close eye on him,” Damian said. “I promise.”

Ian relaxed a little, and Shaw slipped out of his arms and stood, picking up a bag similar to Damian’s. “I’ll call you when I land,” he whispered to Ian, who moaned to show he’d heard, and they walked out of the room together, where Jackie and Riley were waiting with their own carry-on bags ready. Shaw nodded to them, and Jackie started for the door. It took Riley a moment to follow her, and Damian and Shaw brought up the rear. Shaw quietly closed the door behind him, and they headed quietly toward the elevator.

***

An hour after leaving the hotel, the four of them breezed through security, passports and everything, and boarded a flight to London, huddled around a small table in the First Class section. Riley was slumped against Jackie’s shoulder, sound asleep, and Jackie was dozing as well, letting her head rest on his. Damian looked up at Shaw. “If they’re not there, where are they?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Shaw replied. “We’ll keep looking until we save all of them.”

“Even if it takes the rest of our lives?”

“Rest of my life. You don’t have to do this, Damian. You can be free now.”

“I know, but…I need to. So they can be free too.”

***

Across the aisle and a few tables away, a grey-haired man in a charcoal business suit watched them intently, sipping from a glass of water and listening in. In the silence of the cabin, that early in the morning with minimal turbulence, it was relatively easy. He reached for his phone, texting Jason Shaw. “ _They’re flying in: Alert all Octagon personnel._ ”


	63. 2015: Agent 47 Meets With His Siblings

47 slipped his buzzing phone out of his breast pocket, and answered. “Hello?”

“Sev,” Katia said.

“You have a hotel room I take it.”

“I do. Listen…” She hesitated, and 47 could tell something was wrong.

“You can tell me,” he said softly, notes of affection in his voice. It was happening more and more often lately, at least around her.

“I’ve got a guest,” she said. “I can’t explain much on the phone even though we both say everything’s clean. You’ll…you’ll see when you get here.”

Something about this ‘guest’ troubled her, he could tell. “Are you hurt? Are you in danger?”

“Would I still be here if I was?”

“Good point.”

“No, he’s…he’s not dangerous. He has information. About the contracts we’ve been working all week. About Father.”

Ah. “Where are you?” Katia told him, right down to the room number. “I’ll be there soon. Twenty minutes.”

“OK,” she said after a minute, he thought the pause was her nodding even though he couldn’t see her. “I’ll see you soon.” 47 hung up.

***

Katia sighed and hung up the hotel phone, straightening. She could feel 23’s sharp red eyes on her. “You call him Sev?” he asked.

“It slipped out,” she said, turning to look at him again. She wondered if she’d ever get used to those damned eyes of his. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes. You can tell all this bullshit to him.” She walked over to the TV stand, burying her fingers in her hair.

“I thought you’d be interested.”

She sighed heavily and turned on her heel to face him. “I watched my father blow up in a chopper over Singapore three days ago. Excuse me for not being keen to talk about him.”

23 paled. “I’m…so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s…alright. I haven’t seen it on the news yet so I don’t think most people do.” She rubbed her face and looked at him. “I’m sorry. It’s…been a rough week.” 23 simply nodded, and Katia walked over to the bed and took a seat, looking at the news on the station. There was no indication of anything amiss, yet. She wanted to find a phone number for someone else in on the plot and ask them what the status of the rest of the mission was. She knew she and 47 had done their jobs.

Her eyes went to 23. “You said you’re CIA, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard of a man named Dmitry Petrovich?”

He creased his brow, then relaxed a little. “Officially the man doesn’t exist, but unofficially…he’s a legend for an agent in MI6. He was run as such for three years, based in Prague and trying to get the head of the Luhanskiy Brigade, a Russian crime family. His player was a man named John Howe, brother of Ian Howe, an infamous London crime boss. I always found that fitting. Why do you ask?”

“I figured him out recently, based on what I heard about the background of our…assignment. Man named Martin Odum is in a real jam, or so I gather. He was set up for a high profile murder. Dale Bennet?”

“Yeah.” 23’s eyes lit up, which Katia found strangely unsettling. “Lemme guess, you figured out they’re the same person.”

“Yep. I didn’t know who he was before Dmitry, but I know Dmitry and Martin are the same person. I don’t know how many other identities there are but one of you asked after them in the hotel: Dante Auerbach, Lincoln Dittmann, Sebastian Egan, Len Barlow. I think even John Cameron, too. I don’t know if that’s the end of it or what, but I’m sure they’re all the same person.”

“Being John Howe.”

“Yep. And now I know the missing piece.” Her eyes slid to the news station. “Dmitry is the only one I knew personally, for a few days in Prague. He gave me a lead on my father. I got the sense that he wouldn’t tell me all he knew, but I knew they weren’t trying to hide him. I think they were looking for him, too.”

“You’d be right. Six and CIA spent years trying to find him, just like everybody else on the planet with a dog in the race. Kryton Technologies, Syndicate International, hell, even some arms of Verax were in on the hunt, when they had the funds to act on that information.”

“Passed to them by Dr. Ort-Meyer?”

“Came from many sources, actually. Hard to track down the actual source of the intel. However, I do know that all the BS surrounding Litvenko originated here, in the CIA, in nineteen sixty-four.”

“Six-four-oh-five-oh-nine,” Katia recited, remembering the barcode on her brother’s head, on 32’s, surely on 48’s and 23’s.

“Exactly. It’s his official defection date from the Soviet Union. See they wanted him to make super soldiers, same as damn near everyone else, but they were willing to coerce him, even throw him in a Siberian prison if he didn’t comply. He escaped that, certainly remembering his father and uncle, already casualties of the KGB and the work camps. Two of Stalin’s twenty million dead.”

Katia nodded, and already had a clear picture of the times and circumstances that shaped her father: the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. “Litvenko was born in Ukraine, in 1943. Ukraine became a member of the USSR in that year. I’m sure the national language was banned, which explains why he knew Russian but not Ukrainian.” Katia realized she was thinking aloud, picturing conflicts and revolts and underground rebellions and civilians being beaten into submission by Stasi or Russian soldiers. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

“Right,” 23 said softly, nodding. “He was a genius, a critically acclaimed expert, could’ve won the Nobel Prize, maybe. His brain is behind something like 200 papers and a Russian textbook on biogenetics that’s still in use today. The Soviets wanted him, and to be fair, we wanted him too. They weren’t banking on his capacity for flight, though, especially after he felt threatened.”

“Or if he felt a moral cause to do so.” 23 nodded. “But…the US didn’t get Agents, did they?”

“Not until afterward, and as far as I know I’m the only one. Litvenko instead got a private contract lined up. But it’s preferable to either government having Agents, especially back then.”

Katia nodded, and at a knock on the door looked up. “Looks like our twenty minutes is up,” she said softly, standing and walking over to the door, checking through the peephole that it really was 47 before opening the door.

“Katia,” he said to her, nodding a little as he stepped over the threshold. Then he stopped cold, his eyes locking on 23, who stood to meet him. Katia was suddenly jarred by the visual contrast between them: nice Italian wool suit versus hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans, ice blue eyes and vibrant red ones.

“He says he’s CIA,” she said. “Been undercover in Verax for years.”

“The real CIA isn’t tremendously pleased that Verax has its own,” 23 added.

“He says Jason Shaw was part of a front, that there’s some kind of secret administration behind Jason Shaw.”

“You took steps in the right direction, but more people need to die.”


	64. 2015: A Series Of Necessary Phone Calls

Shaw stepped out of the cab into a pouring rain, and he looked around at the buildings and people around him before turning to walk down the street toward the London offices, based in an office building in the business district, so inconspicuous you had to actively look for it. The walk itself was two blocks from where the cab parked and he got out, as instructed at the start, and when he reached it he pushed open the glass door into a modernist lobby with a small water fountain. He wiped excess water from his face and shook his head a little, then turned and walked over to the reception desk. “Excuse me,” he said, “I need to see a man about a horse?”

The receptionist looked up, then said, “Right down the hall and to your left.”

“Thank you.” Shaw nodded to her and started down the hall. He heard someone peel off from a wall somewhere and begin to follow, and about ten paces later he heard someone join his tail. Somehow he got the feeling that they weren’t here to make sure his payment was delivered. He kept his pace measured and even as he looked for his door, and listened to the men closing in, their steps slightly quicker than his. He let them gain on him as he turned down the hall and walked toward an unmarked door. This was the first left he’d made, so he was relatively sure he was in the right place.

Plus, it was cramped quarters and easy to keep track of his two tails. If he had to make work of them, for one, he wouldn’t hesitate, and for another, narrow spaces always benefitted smaller numbers. He knocked on the door, and waited for someone behind it to answer, “Come in,” in a crisp, accented voice before opening the door.

One of the men behind him drew a gun.

Shaw threw open the door and tossed the suitcase to the woman behind the desk, who caught it with an “Oof!” and fell out of her chair. “Sorry!” Shaw called to her as he turned and grabbed the man’s wrist, striking him once in the face before breaking his arm. The gun fell at Shaw’s feet, and he kicked it toward the woman, who drew a weapon of her own from behind a desk, taking aim down the hall. Shaw drove his elbow into the ribs of the man whose arm he’d just broken, and twisted, crashing his skull into the wall. By then the man’s partner was already firing, two shots before Shaw spun a little and took out his knee.

The woman fired too, the bullet slicing through the second man’s skull spraying blood all over everything in the hallway, including Shaw. The man dropped, and she fired again, leaving only an entry wound in the crown of his head, just to be sure.

Shaw looked over his shoulder, and nodded his thanks to her. She nodded back. “I need to alert Burnwood.” Shaw simply nodded in response, at a loss for words. “Are you one of ours?” she asked.

“No,” Shaw replied, shaking his head.

“Then you need to get out of here.” She was already walking out of the office, reaching for her phone, and Shaw turned and followed the hallway back, retracing his steps. Guards were responding to the scene already, and Shaw’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out. “Hello?”

“Shaw,” Diana said. “Something’s come up regarding your case.”

***

47 hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning back to 23 and Katia. “I told Diana what she said. She’ll be calling Mr. Shaw now,” he said to them. His eyes shifted to 23 exclusively. “Now, tell me what you know,” he said. “Every detail.”

“Jason Shaw is CEO of Verax, but the founding members have…their own ideas. They have a little coalition behind the scenes to protect their interests and initial goals,” 23 explained.

“Which are?”

“I don’t know, but I caught grumblings. The old hands feel like Jason Shaw warped everything when he took over in the late nineties, after the Gulf War. Guy looked like he’d been through hell but not as bad as what happened in Basra in 2004. Something about…Operation Raining Fire, how we had to clean _all_ that shit up because it was a fucking shitshow, killed most of our guys. He wouldn’t shut up about it for months afterward. It was like he took it personally, and I don’t blame the guy. Left lung gone, I think he’s got a glass eye, almost.

“I do know, however, that one of the founding members is pretty vocal against the heavily militarized version of their company that is Verax Global Security. That’d be Dr. Ort-Meyer.”

“A German,” Katia said. “I presume the reasons for his objections are obvious to everyone present.”

47 glanced at her, and then fixed his gaze on 23 again. “Why are you here?”

“First of all my handler doesn’t know about this. He will, and he’ll be pissed, and I’ll be investigated, but listen to me. I heard about your efforts. I saw the results. I know Jason Shaw and Spiller are dead. I know why, too. It’s about Martin Odum, and the total war his brother is planning against Verax. Unofficially, he has the CIA’s full support, but they’ll never say they backed a crime boss, for a lot of obvious reasons. I don’t know exactly what he’s planning, but…” 23 shrugged.

“We need in,” Katia said, letting her eyes slide to 47. “What they’re planning, we have to reach out to them and help, and that also means turning over what we know so they can account for it too.”

47 looked at her, his expression softer than when he regarded 23. “OK,” he said quietly. “How do you suggest we do that, Katia?”

“Get the number of the guy who ordered the hits, reach out to him. He’s our way in,” she said. “If he’s willing to talk and open the door for us, we can all be valuable assets for each other in the fight.”

23 looked from Katia to 47 and shrugged. “She’s got a point. It’s how I’d do it.”

47 looked at 23, hardening at once. Katia could tell he wanted 23 to shut up, so Katia held up a hand to stop him from saying anything more. Even then, she could tell 47’s glare was enough to silence him. 47 nodded once, and fished his phone out of his pocket to type a quick text to his handler. She responded moments later, and 47 handed the phone to Katia.

She read the number, then dialed it in his keypad. It rang twice before someone answered.

“This is Shaw.” The voice was British and strong, firm. Katia pictured him at once: bald and tall, handsome, well-muscled, middle-aged.

“I need to meet with you.”

“And you are…?”

Katia glanced at 47, realizing they both knew she could no longer use her alias, at least not for a while, until this whole thing blew over. “Katia,” she said, as 47 nodded.


	65. 2015: Of Meetings Both Public And Private

“I think it’s clear to everyone in this room that we have a problem,” Tomlin said to the briefing room.

“Spiller goes missing, and then two days later so does Jason Shaw,” Nelson Gates replied. “I smell a pattern, and I’m sure not the only one.”

“So what do you think?” the current acting director asked. “Terrorists?”

Nelson shrugged. “Maybe.”

“We’re not ruling anything out,” Sadusky said, taking off his reading glasses and leaning back in his chair, watching the acting director. “Sir, very powerful people are disappearing on our watch. Personally, and I’ve been helping Mr. Gates track this case as it developed, along with trying to pin down Mr. Odum as Spiller requested, we believe there are two options: well-funded and well-trained terrorists, or professional assassins.”

“Now, we recognize the overlap.”

“I understand,” the director said.

“I don’t,” Tomlin countered. “I think you’re trying to muddy the waters, agent.”

Before Nelson could counter in his usual scathing fashion, Maggie pounded on the door and let herself in. “I’m…so sorry to interrupt, but it can’t wait,” she said urgently. “Sirs…Jason Shaw’s body was found in a London warehouse early this morning by local police officers. It…looks like he was strangled,” she continued, turning her tablet toward the room at large and desperately wishing for bigger screens.

“Can I see that, Maggie?” Nelson asked, holding his hand out for the tablet. She handed it to him without question. He studied the photos attached to the autopsy report intently. “Says here looks like he was strangled with a…piano wire.”

“A piano wire?” the acting director asked, incredulous.

“Son of a bitch,” someone else in the room muttered. He was one of the guys unofficially in charge of liaisons with other agencies and entities. “It’s him.”

“Him who?” Maggie asked.

“What I’m about to say can’t leave this room,” the director said, “but government agencies all around the world have an unofficial…understanding with an entity known as the International Contracts Agency. As the name implies, they carry out hits around the world, on the most powerful of people. They’re a private corporation with no ties to any government, but they have accords with most major espionage and law enforcement agencies, including but not limited to the FBI, the CIA, MI6, and others. The accords are loose enough that even though we have a truce of sorts any one of us could have a contract on us, and ICA operatives have the responsibility of carrying those contracts out.”

“You think this is an ICA hit?” Nelson asked.

“I do,” said the man who first spoke on the topic.

“The…autopsy report suggested the fiber wire was well maintained and probably professionally made for the purpose,” Maggie said. “Custom-made and…somewhat expensive.”

“Sounds professional to me,” Nelson said.

“So what does it mean?” the director asked.

“It means we assume Spiller is dead, as well,” Sadusky said, watching him.

“It also means we can’t go looking for the killer without consequences,” said the other man, the liaison. “If we hunt an ICA asset, then that accord goes completely out the window and everyone in every FBI office is as good as dead, and that’s not a risk we can afford to take.”

“So we’re just…sweeping it under the rug?” Tomlin asked.

“Now you know how we felt,” Nelson remarked. Tomlin narrowed his eyes at him. Nelson’s eyes moved to Sadusky. “Any luck finding Sophia again after she bolted.”

“I’ve got local PD on the case, since she’s out of our jurisdiction now,” Sadusky said.

“We also…lost the signal on her phone, we think she discarded it though we’re not sure why,” Maggie added.

“Could be accidental,” Nelson said. “You did describe her as very distraught on finding her brother wasn’t where she initially thought. Perhaps she raced off to find him and…lost her phone along the way,” he added with a slight shrug.

“Sophia Rieper?” the director asked. Sadusky nodded. “Wasn’t she a person of interest in the Spiller case?”

“She was, but we questioned her on the plane while we went to look for her brother,” Maggie explained.

“During questioning we determined that she was telling the truth,” Sadusky added, “and in light of this newer information, we have reason to believe she was not involved in the killing anyway.”

“Physically she’s just too small,” Maggie said, a little quickly. “And besides that she has no training in guns and even seems uncomfortable around them. We’ve run through every possible means she could kill Spiller on the flight back. It’s highly unlikely that Sophia engaged in any of them, between her nerves at being in a foreign country and her slight stature, she just… can’t do it.”

“I see,” the director said, nodding.

“However, this doesn’t mean we can’t rule her out quite yet. She’s still acting strangely,” Sadusky said, “and frankly I’d like to ask her a few more questions if she can be found again.”

The acting director nodded again, more firmly. “Keep looking.”

“Will do, sir.”

***

Katia found the café with relative ease, and took a seat at one of the outside tables, across from, just as she had expected, a bald, strong-looking man in a leather jacket and jeans. “You’re Katia, I take it,” he said.

“I am,” she replied as she settled in and crossed her legs. “You are…?”

“I’m Shaw. You said you have something?” When she hesitated a little, he said, “Don’t worry, I checked the place out. No one can overhear us here.” She considered him a moment, but could already feel he’d covered all his bases.

“A CIA operative who’d been undercover in Verax for years showed up at my hotel room and told me the rabbit hole goes deeper than we thought. We’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

“How much work?”

“I gather there’s a secret administration of sorts, real cloak and dagger. The public CEO and the FBI director are a start, but according to this operative more people need to die. I can only assume this refers to certain members of Verax’s ‘Notable Patriots’ list.”

Shaw considered her a moment. “What do you suggest? Ian and I don’t have our crew go out killing.”

“That’s where we come in,” she said. “We want to help you. Myself, the man watching you from that sniper nest across the street making sure you don’t pull anything funny. The operative. We all want to help you and your crew in your fight. You hired us, after all.”

Shaw held up a hand to stop her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, I hired someone else entirely.”

“My brother? 47?”

Shaw fell silent, and let his hand fall back to the table. “OK,” he said. “Have 47 take you and whomever else wants to help to this address.” He straightened, pulling a card and a pen out of his pocket. He scrawled something on the back and slid the card on the table toward her. She picked it up and pocketed it without even looking at it. “Tomorrow, nine A.M.,” Shaw added.

Katia nodded and stood, tucking in her chair and starting back the way she had come, raising her arm in the air as a signal to her brother in the sniper nest. The movement was over in a second as her hand returned to her pocket.

***

Thirty stories up, in a conference room in an office building across from the café, a bald man in a fine tailored suit began to disassemble his sniper rifle and start placing the pieces neatly in their slots in the briefcase. He closed it with a soft, clean click and carried it out of the room, looking every inch like he belonged in that building.


	66. 2015: John Smith Joins The Party

“OK I have eyes on 47,” John said, one hand on the earpiece. “He’s headed east-bound out of an office building, carrying a briefcase.”

“He doesn’t…” Diana began. “Wait, check across the street. What do you see?”

John walked around the corner to get a better look. “There’s a café,” he said, “with outside seating, there’s a bald guy at one of the tables, he’s the only one. And…wait there’s someone walking away from the café, headed south, a woman. It looks like…” He was already walking toward her, picking up the pace so he was gaining on her.

The woman slowed to a stop, and John stopped walking moments later. She looked at him across the street. “It’s her,” he said, then removed his hand from the earpiece. Katia turned toward him, confused and wary. They watched each other for almost a full minute, and then John started across the street, his hands up. “I’m un—”

“I know,” Katia said. “I’d tell if you weren’t.” John lowered his hands. “What do you want, John?”

“They’re letting me go…on a leash,” John explained. “I have to keep tabs on you and your brother.”

“So I presume if you make an attempt on either of our lives in your current…situation you’ll be in a lot of trouble. They can’t kill you so torture maybe? Keep you locked up for however long you live.” She shrugged nonchalantly, though she knew even if John did as the ICA asked, he would still be their captive. She may not have cared for the man but to be a pawn for an uncaring agency was by far a crueler fate than most other things Katia could imagine.

She leaned forward, positioning her lips right next to the earpiece. “If I cannot count on backup from you people, piss the fuck off,” she hissed, and she stepped back, meeting John with a cold, level gaze. “Let’s hope your friends on the other end of that leash are willing to cooperate. After all, it’s not like they can afford to lose track of my brother and I.”

“They’re not my friends,” John replied tersely. “What’re you doing back?”

“None of your business.”

“Fair enough.”

Katia’s eyes slid over across the street in the briefest of glances, but John noticed, and he looked over. 47 stood there, holding a briefcase, watching them. “I know you’ve been tailing us, John, but you can do that outside of a five-foot radius of my sister.”

47’s tone was meant to chill to the core, Katia knew, and while she wasn’t affected (knowing he wouldn’t hurt her), she stepped back nonetheless. Better safe than sorry, after all. John turned, as if fueled by habit and impulse and unfinished business, but Katia caught him just as his arm went up, fist in the air. One of her hands curled around his shirt, and she twisted, shoving him into the façade of an establishment that, by the smell, sold Italian food for cheap.

He looked at her, wary, and then at 47, who cocked an eyebrow. Katia looked over her shoulder at him, and then released John all at once. He gasped and glanced between them, but she didn’t bother to look back. “What do you think?” Katia asked in a low voice.

“I want him as far away from you as possible,” 47 replied.

“He told me he was tasked with keeping eyes on us. I think he could be useful.”

47 glanced at John, who nodded to confirm what she said, and looked back at Katia. “How so?”

“For one he’s bulletproof. You need a human shield? Here he is. For another we’ve both seen him fight, and we are gravely outnumbered compared to Verax. You know this.”

“He won’t pass up a chance to let us die.”

“If he does what do you think your company will do to him? He can’t die, not by any conventional means we’ve tried so far, so anything they try will amount to torture. I don’t imagine your old chums are too keen on that kind of image.”

“The only image they like is the one where they don’t exist.”

“Hm,” Katia said with a slight but devious smile. “Seems we might have something.”

“You’re clever and conniving. Stop talking.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” John asked.

“Shut up, John,” 47 replied simply. He started walking toward the corner, and Katia fell in beside him, leaving John a couple paces behind them. She fished out the card from her pocket and handed it to 47.

“Meeting,” she said simply. “With the other minds behind the war effort. Me and everyone else who wants to join in.” 47 took the card, examined it briefly, hummed a little, and slipped it into his breast pocket. “John’s assignment is to tail us, so we can’t very well get rid of him, not easily at least. I’m just trying to make something good out of this,” she added in a low voice, stepping a little closer to him.

“I know you are,” 47 replied, equally softly. He paused briefly. “What do your instincts tell you?”

“That he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t like the leash. It bugs him, and he wants his freedom back. He’s frustrated, and he could take it out on us, but he won’t, because his freedom is now contingent upon keeping track of us for your company. He likely speculates about what would happen to him if he were to kill you on their watch. However, whatever fear he may have of that possible fate won’t hold forever, between his mounting anger and insensitivity to pain. When the fear gives out, I can’t guarantee our safety, which is why we need to give him another channel for his emotions.

“They also tell me that if we let it, he’ll become a burden instead of an asset. He’ll weigh us down just by watching us. But, we can turn it around and make it advantageous for us. I feel an opportunity, not just desperation at the realization of how outnumbered we are. John’s particular skills and innate abilities are something the other side doesn’t have. They’re an advantage. Even if they know about him already they’d be just as hard-pressed as us to find a way to deal with him.”

They were silent as they crossed a busy intersection, and Katia glanced over her shoulder to make sure they didn’t lose John, or rather that he didn’t lose them. When they reached the other side and the crowds started to thin out a little, 47 looked at her. “Very well,” he said, nodding a little and looking back at the crowd around them. Katia glanced at him, then scanned the crowd in her own right.

“ _Kak tvoy russkiy_?” Katia asked. “How’s your Russian?”

“Good enough,” 47 replied.

“Good.”


	67. 2007: Arrival In London

“I’ve been told you’re making progress,” the President said as he took a seat at the dining table in a secured safe house he made use of just for this visit. Ben had jumped a little on his arrival but turned to face him slowly.

“I am,” he said after a moment. The President gestured for him to have a seat, and he settled in across from him. “But I need to understand exactly what you’re hoping to gain trying to find this…Dr. Litvenko.”

“Excellent question.” He glanced down at the table, briefly, then met Ben’s measured gaze. “Dr. Litvenko created human clones, with genes modified and enhanced for speed, intelligence, pain tolerance. On paper perfect super soldiers. Now, this was back in Sixty-Seven, at the height of the Cold War, so you can imagine pressure from both sides was on. I imagine he felt it too. Word had reached the CIA that the clones didn’t express a particular loyalty at all, except to their job: assassination.”

Ben nodded, humming a little. The President continued. “Of course, by the time this word reached our people, Litvenko split town, so to speak. He disappeared off the face of the earth, and nobody’s seen or heard from him since. Many people have been looking, deploying countless resources to the task, and so far there’s no success, or if there is I haven’t heard of it. They all have their motives, of course, but mine is exposure.”

“I’m…sorry?”

“I want the whole world to know that clones exist, they’re here, the technology exists, but more importantly I want the process legalized, regulated. I want clones protected by the same rights that protect everyone else in the world. What I’ve read of other cloning projects makes me understand why the ASPCA and the Humane Society are so deeply against factory farming.”

The analogy dawned on Ben, and his eyes went wide as he leaned back, stunned and starting to feel sick. He understood exactly what the President was saying. “You want to put a stop to it,” he said.

The President nodded. “Forever. That’s why I need you. It isn’t just your skills or talents or intellect. It’s your moral convictions and the strength with which you cling to them. Nobody thinks like you do anymore, you know that, but they want to. You know that, too. But they need courage to think and say and believe as you do. These people need an example. Our people…need an example.”

_The American people_ , Ben couldn’t help but think, as he knew exactly what the President meant. “Tell me what I need to do, Mr. President,” he said.

“Find him, convince him to come forward and tell his story, to as many people as possible. Back him, support him publicly, and I will, too. That should give this enough pull to become something in Congress and globally.”

“Make it a big story on purpose?”

“Exactly.”

“And if he says no?”

“Just…do your best.”

Ben nodded, and the President nodded back. It was as good as a handshake.

***

“Sorry Abi I… can’t talk right now I’m getting on a plane to London,” Riley said in the choked voice of someone in a big hurry. He was crossing the terminal to his gate, almost surrounded by Damian, Shaw, and Jackie.

“London?” Abigail asked from the other end of the line. “What’s going on? What have you been doing this whole time?”

“Oh the usual,” he said. “Getting shot at, jet-setting, getting involved in things I shouldn’t, same old same old.”

“Riley,” she said in that chastising tone that told him she knew he was hiding something, and it was probably time to fess up before she pried it out of him.

He sighed. “OK, fine, I ran into Shaw and met Ian’s cousin and got myself swept up in some shit. I don’t know what’s going on at all but it’s about clones and it’s…kinda scary.”

“Riley, where are you?”

“JFK.”

“Are you in security?”

“Boarding. I guess the TSA agents didn’t want to…didn’t want to mess with the big scary dude behind me,” Riley said with an awkward chuckle as he glanced at Shaw. Shaw creased his brow slightly for a moment but said nothing. The four of them fell into line at the gate as the call to board came over the intercom.

“I thought that’d be the first person he’d want to mess with,” Abigail replied lightly, trying to lighten the mood a little. “Riley, look, I need to talk to you. About…the Book.”

“What?”

“I wanted to see if you’re available because I’m not willing to tell you over the phone.”

“Abi,” he said, straightening a little and stopping in line. “I made my phone un-tappable.”

“And mine?”

“OK good point.”

He could hear her take a deep breath. “OK I have to risk it. Ben told me about page 47. It’s not a puzzle at all.”

“So…what is it?” The line inched forward.

“It’s a record of a defection, of a biogeneticist named Dr. Peter Aaron Litvenko.”

“Mr. Human Cloning?”

“How’d you know about him?”

“I found his documents from the sixties when I was working on my book. I thought about including him too but there was so much there that nobody else knew or even heard of, I’d have to explain so much and lay out so many details, so much background that I tabled it for a book on its own.”

Abigail paused, Riley presumed to nod in understanding, then she said, “Ben texted fifteen minutes ago with his official mission orders, he calls them. The treasure is the man.”

Riley was going to ask questions, but by the time they even began to formulate in his head, Abigail had hung up.

***

Berlin had turned up nothing, as far as Katia could determine, so she had continued to travel, following lead after lead, picking up little clue after little clue and adding to her map and journal, all the places she’d visited looking for him. She kept careful track, and found herself drawing his face on occasion, for reasons she couldn’t quite determine. It helped center her, especially when she had nothing to take apart on the sleepless nights. Maybe that was reason enough.

Her eyes scanned Trafalgar Square, taking note of everything from the statues to the tourists. They came from everywhere in the world, and she caught snatches of conversation, translating them instantly in her head: asking about where the best place to eat was, have you seen the Eye of London yet, look it’s the Tower of London did you know they kept such and such there once, and so forth. Katia let herself get swept up in a crowd of tourists wandering the streets of London, and started scanning faces, wondering if he was there, or someone who knew him, someone who would trigger a response from her, a deep, visceral response that was indicative of her instincts kicking in, guiding her.

So far, nothing was happening.

She broke off from the crowd and started wandering around on her own, wondering if she should ask at hotels, or try the staff at the airport again. Maybe she’d catch someone who remembered something, and could point her in the right direction—the real right direction—this time. Airports and hotels were, after all, a nice place to start. But then, so were cafes. If he didn’t want to be found, and Katia strongly suspected he did, he’d go to places without cameras, avoiding CCTV as much as possible. This would limit him to smaller establishments with people who either didn’t work there at the time or had failing memories. Those, however, were risks Katia was willing to take. After all, now that she had a photo of the man, asking people to identify him had become a lot easier.

She looked up, pulled from her thoughts by her realization that she’d wandered back to the airport. She stopped, and stepped into the shadows of an alleyway that gave her a good vantage point from which to watch the crowd without notice. She fell back into the process of scanning faces, and her eyes fell on a group of four, two men, a woman, and a young boy about ten years old. Katia recognized none of the party, but something about them drew her attention. Perhaps it was their purpose, their apparent sense of mission, evident in the way they carried themselves, or the very noticeable similarity between the boy and one of the men. Or was it something else? Something her instincts picked up on that she couldn’t fully understand at that point.

She realized it was really the guy across the street, watching the team of four as she was, from an outdoor café table behind sunglasses, dressed in black. She was in the middle of a situation unfolding. She stepped into the passing crowds, snatching a newspaper off the rack and flipping through the pages before finding what she was looking for.

It was him. The dead guy connected to one of the fugitives from federal prison in the United States. He was alive, in London, with that author and two others.

Katia turned on her heel and ran toward the airport, bursting into the lobby and tracking down one of the security guards. “I need a phone,” she said, holding up the newspaper and pointing to the picture of the only man she knew for sure had a phone on him, Philip McGregor, out on parole.


	68. 2007: Katia Van Dees Brings Phil McGregor To London

Phil jerked awake when his phone started ringing next to his pillow, and he picked it up, too tired to fully glance at the number. “Hello?” he mumbled.

“Are you Phil McGregor?” the light, feminine voice on the other end asked, voice trembling just slightly.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Can you catch a plane, like…right now? I think your friend…Shaw?...is in trouble.”

Phil sat up. “What? What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure yet. I think someone’s watching them, and…listen, just get your ass on a plane and get down here now. Call your parole officer from the terminal if you have to. They need you.”

“OK. OK…” Phil sat up, fumbling around for his pants in the darkness. “Where are you now? Where did you see them?”

“Just coming out of the airport. They just got here, I think.” There was a pause, and then she said. “He’s gone. He must be following them. How fast can you get here?”

“Give me…Give me like twelve hours. Can you watch them until then? Make sure they’re OK?” Phil asked as he pulled on his jeans and pulled himself to his feet, padding around his crewmates to retrieve a gun and slip out of the room.

“I…” She paused, presumably nodding a little. “Yeah I…how do I get in touch with you again?”

“You’re in London right?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, I need you to listen to me. Ian has a flat there. Inside is a safe: guns, burner phones, everything you need. Grab a burner phone, a gun and some ammo if you think you need it. You’ll need the phone to reach me again.”

The woman paused again. “Where’s the flat?”

***

Katia had found Ian’s old apartment and slipped inside with a shockingly little amount of effort. She found the safe and cracked it relatively easily, made a mental note to alert them to change the code more often, and retrieved a phone only before slipping out. She called Phil’s number again. “I have the phone,” she said.

“I noticed,” Phil replied, a little light humor in his voice.

“Where are you?”

“Just boarded. I’ll be there in about twelve hours, provided I don’t die.”

“Rickety plane?”

“Earliest flight I could find.”

“OK. I’m on my way toward your friends now. If that man’s there I’ll let you know,” she said, and she slipped out of the apartment complex without tripping any alarms. She looked around, and started walking. “Any idea where they’re supposed to be headed?”

“They’re supposed to be looking for a compound, somewhere in the outer limits, beyond the City proper. I can’t recall exactly where, but I know it’s underground.”

“Roger,” Katia said, marching down the street toward the City perimeter. “Anything else I should look for?”

“Ask Shaw.”

“Maybe.” Katia scanned the crowd around her, and hung up.

***

Shaw and Damian were first to notice their tail, and had been trying to lose him for the better part of the day. Riley was confused at first, but noticed him, as well; he was last, following Jackie by almost an hour. She looked at him then, and said, “You need help.” He simply rolled his eyes. Damian glanced at them both, then looked out the window.

“Any ideas?” he asked, looking at Shaw.

“Just one, but it’s insane,” Shaw replied, and he jerked the wheel. The three passengers swung to the side with the inertia of his sudden move, as Shaw drove onto the sidewalk and through a park.

“We’re so gonna get arrested,” Jackie muttered as she watched the tail follow effortlessly.

“Who the fuck trained this guy?” Shaw spat as he struggled to navigate grass and paths clearly not meant for cars. The tail had maintained perfectly even spacing this whole time.

“You think he’s…” Damian began, but he was unable to finish the thought.

“Can’t rule it out,” Shaw replied.

“Wh-what do we do?” Riley asked, looking around like a frantic madman.

“Fake surrender?” Shaw offered.

“If we want to get killed,” Damian replied. “Find the base, maybe we can get to the others, get some backup.”

Shaw nodded, and jerked the wheel, sending the passengers into the doors or each other, and steered them back onto the street to a chorus of sirens, honking cars, and startled pedestrians. Shaw glanced in the rearview mirror at the car behind them, trying to get a good look at the face of their tail. He ceded that the man was good, and frankly this made him a little nervous. He chewed his lip just slightly and scanned the road, looking for the first warehouses. They’d be on the water, he knew, and fan out from there.

Jackie looked over her shoulder at the tail. “Stop,” she said.

“What?” Jackie barely registered that it was all three of them asking at once, in tones ranging from confused to startled and even somewhat offended.

“Stop the car,” Jackie said. After a pause, she added, “Trust me.”

Shaw and Damian glanced at each other, then Shaw looked at Riley and Jackie in turn. She nodded, and he nodded back and eased the car onto the curb. The tail car pulled up right along behind them. Jackie popped open her door and then eased it open, sliding out and raising her hands in the universal gesture of surrender, to show goodwill and that she was unarmed.

The man studied her for a few moments, enough for Jackie to tell that he was alone. Then, slowly, he stepped out of the car, closing the driver’s side door behind him with one fluid motion. The first thing Jackie noticed was that he was remarkably tall, and bald. “Who’re you?” she asked.

“Not your concern,” the man replied.

“It is my concern. You’re following us, after all.”

“You and your friends are interfering.”

“With?”

“An operation done by the people I work for.”

“Octagon?”

“No. Verax.”

“Never heard of them. We’re here because of Octagon, and you guys may or may not be buddies but they fucked my pals over there over.” She gestured to the car behind her.

The man glanced at the people in the car, spotting the two clones almost at once, and then looked at Jackie again. “I have intelligence which tells me you intend to destroy Octagon.”

“So what if we are?” Jackie asked with a shrug.

The man watched her for a moment. “Then we have a problem,” he said. “Verax and Octagon are partners, and I’ve been tasked with protecting Octagon and its interests.”

“And what about the people?”

“Pardon?”

“The people. Octagon clones people, and trains them into soldiers. You can’t just stand here and tell me you want that to continue.”

He hesitated, pursing his lips. If Jackie could see his eyes, she knew she’d see emotion in them. He had his morals still. Or at least, Jackie hoped he did. After several moments like this he merely said, “Not my concern.”

“The men on trial at Nuremburg said they were just following orders,” Jackie replied tersely. The man watched her steadily, and Jackie could feel his uncertainty. She’d hit a nerve. Now she needed to capitalize on it. “What can your bosses do?” she asked. “Fire you? Kill you maybe, but you could fend them off, couldn’t you? You’re a well-trained tail so I assume you’re well trained in other areas, as well. You could fight them off. But do you want to take that risk?”

“It’s time to make a choice,” she added, holding his gaze. “Them…or your conscience.”

***

Katia watched the exchange from around a nondescript abandoned office building, the burner phone to her ear. “I have eyes,” she said to Phil on the other end of the line. “The woman is talking to someone…that man from the café. He still has his baseball cap and sunglasses, I can’t see who it is.”

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Phil asked.

“The woman’s trying to…talk him down, get him to leave them alone. I think it’s working.”


	69. 2015: Ian Howe Meets The New Recruits

Ian shrugged on his suit jacket and adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt as he assessed himself in the mirror. It wasn’t often these days he had to prepare himself for a meeting, but then, as before, it was about the show, the display of power and wealth he cultivated. It had always been his means of asserting himself as the dominant one in the exchange, and reminding the visiting party that he was the boss. While the circumstances of this meeting were a little bit different he still went through this ritual.

He met Shaw’s eyes in the mirror and found him smiling. Ian felt a slight return smile form as he fixed his tie, and he turned to Shaw and grinned. Shaw laughed and took a few steps toward him, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face. “Ready?” Shaw asked.

“Ready as I can be,” Ian replied.

“I’ve got your six, you know that?” Ian nodded, smiling a little. “Alright, let’s go.”

Ian nodded, and they walked out of the bedroom to the main living room where Phil, Powell, Victor, Martin, and four new faces waited. Two of them looked like twins, only distinguishable by the color of their eyes: one set ice blue, the other set brilliant red. The third person Ian noticed was a white-haired, pale man in sunglasses and street clothes. His face was far too young looking for hair that white. The fourth of the party stood out for her sheer normalcy, as she was a young woman with thick brown hair. Her eyes were fixed squarely on Martin, jaw slightly slack as she seemed to be struggling to process something, or someone.

Martin noticed too. He was watching her in turn, and after several moments tentatively asked, “Can…I help you with something?”

“I’m…sorry,” the woman said, as if snapped from a spell. She shook her head a little and looked away. “I thought…I thought you’d…”

“That I’d what?”

Ian could tell where this was going. Martin would want to know anyone who knew him before the incident in Iraq, to help fill in every little detail. “You want to know if he remembers you?” he asked, looking at the woman. She looked at him, and her eyebrows lifted.

“You’re the twins,” she said. Then she looked back at Martin, as if deciding to get right to the point. “I knew you,” she said. “In Prague, in 2001. It was only a few days but you…you helped me a lot. You gave me my first solid lead when it came to…when it came to finding my father.”

Martin looked at her, taking in her change in tone. Ian could tell something had happened, but knew enough to decide it was best to leave the subject for later. “Did you find him?” Martin asked. The woman nodded. “That’s…that’s good,” Martin said, nodding in response. “Um…I hate to ask, but…can you tell me what name you knew me by, back then?”

“Dmitry,” she replied without hesitation. “Dmitry Petrovich Petrov. You were a Russian gangster, just moved into Prague and took over a trucking company. You beat the shit out of the previous owner.” She repressed a smile, as if the memory was pleasant for her, or it had lost its feeling of terror when she looked back on it. “You can imagine I didn’t want to approach you at first, but you caught me after I broke into your car and I just…” she shrugged, “told you the truth.”

Martin watched her, leaning forward and licking his lip a little. “About what you were doing there?”

“About a lot of things.”

He nodded, straightening a little. “Can we talk later?” The woman nodded.

“Alright,” Ian said, attracting everyone’s attention. He scanned the crowd again, though nothing had changed. “Anyone know where Abi, Riley, and Jackie are?”

Phil shrugged. “Working on getting Ben out, I guess?” he said.

“Ben Gates?” Martin asked.

“Yeah. He’s another victim of Verax’s little false confession scheme,” Ian explained, walking to the sofa and taking a seat on the armrest, folding his arms across his chest. Shaw settled on the sofa next to him, and Ian couldn’t help but lean against him a little bit. “Like I said, we’ve all been victims of their schemes.” Ian looked at their new arrivals. “My man tells me you’ve been recruited,” he said, gesturing with his head toward Shaw.

“That’s true,” the woman said, watching Ian.

“Spiller and Jason Shaw are dead,” said the blue-eyed man in a cold, monotone voice. He was watching Ian, as well.

“I see,” Ian replied.

“But…we’ve got more problems than that,” the woman said.

“There’s a secret administration, established since the founding of Verax before it was even Verax,” the red-eyed twin said. “It was kept around in case of things like this, to help the company remain solvent and functional in times of stress.”

“And you know this how?” Phil asked, lifting his eyebrows. Ian had to admire his skepticism.

“I’ve been working undercover with them for years. Verax has their own espionage arm, Ensign. You can imagine the CIA was not pleased to learn this fact, and I was tasked with finding out what’s going on, hopefully something that could be used to get rid of this private espionage force that could start spying on CIA operatives.”

“That would be a problem,” Ian said.

“Yeah, a big one,” Martin agreed, glancing at him. “The CIA can’t tolerate anyone investigating them and threatening to expose their secrets. There were probably spies and counterspies and moles going both ways.” He looked back at the red-eyed man as he spoke. “No?”

He looked at his twin companion, who said, “All we know is this secret administration is a threat.”

“Do we know anything else about it?” Phil asked. “Like…who comprises it?”

“One of the members is a Dr. Ort-Meyer,” the spy said. “He used to work with Dr. Litvenko, Katia’s father.”

“Excuse me, did you say, Dr. Litvenko?” Ian asked.

The spy looked at him. “You know him?”

“My future cousin in law mentioned him once, after Ben’s arrest. He said Abigail told him, as a way of keeping the secret alive and the hunt going while he was effectively out of commission as a treasure hunter.”

“Have you…found anything?” the woman asked. It was clear to Ian this was a serious topic for her.

“Not to speak of.” She nodded, pursing her lips a little as she looked at the others in the room. Ian looked at the spy. “Why are you talking to us, and not your superiors at the CIA?”

“You’re the group most actively involved, and doing something. Oh, I’ll tell my handler about this, of course, I’ll talk to the directorate, but that comes later. I know you’re working for our benefit, and that’s what matters most to these people. Beg forgiveness later, as they say,” he finished with a slight chuckle.

Ian nodded a little. “I see,” he said. “Well, what are our options?”

“Ort-Meyer is connected to my father,” the woman said. “I can approach him, asking about my father and his work. That’s our way in.”

“You think that’ll work?” Martin asked her.

“Do you have other ideas?”

The woman looked at the rest of the crowd, and Martin did, as well. After several moments Phil decided to speak. “Looks like that’s our only option, but if you ask me that’s a pretty damn good one.”

“She’s right,” Martin said, looking at Ian. “She has the most credible means of gaining access to not only this doctor, but his colleagues, and be a potential well of information.” He leaned forward a little, eyes fixed on Ian. “Take it from me,” he said. “The key to undercover work is to make the lie as close to the truth as possible, and so far, this girl’s our best shot.” He gestured to the woman briefly.

The woman looked at Ian, seeming slightly nervous at being put on the spot like this, or perhaps unused to having her hunches confirmed by anything or anyone outside of herself. But this moment was very fleeting, and she started to smile a little. “When do we start?” she asked.

“We should probably catch you up, first,” Ian replied.


	70. 2015: How To Liberate A Prisoner, Part 1

“OK that was from Ian,” Jackie said as she looked up at Riley and Abigail from her phone.

“Is it good?” Riley asked.

“He didn’t say either way. He said he’d tell me later over the phone.”

“So what do we do?” Abigail asked.

“Keep moving forward with the plan. How’re we looking on time?”

Abigail unfolded her arms from her chest and leaned over the table to tap her phone. “We’ve got five hours yet,” she said, straightening and looking at Jackie again.

Jackie nodded. “OK, good. And we each know our parts?” The two of them gave affirmatives, and she could tell Riley was at least a little bit on the edge of uttering some snarky response along the lines of “We’ve been over them a thousand times already, of course we know them,” but he held his tongue. Jackie nodded again. “Any…last minute things we need to do?”

Abi and Riley looked at each other, then shook their heads. “I think we’re set,” Riley said to Jackie.

“OK.”

***

The envelope was easy to find in storage, in the one light box of evidence against Benjamin Franklin Gates, along with a copy of the confession tape and some bomb-making equipment. The envelope had been found in his apartment, though there was no trace of his handwriting or that he’d written, well, anything contained in the folder. At the time the current President had privately claimed responsibility for the packet, though he also admitted that wasn’t entirely the truth.

He opened it gingerly, ready to look at it with fresh eyes and wondering if it could help shed some light on the current case. The file inside slid out rather easily, and he laid it across his desk, opening it slowly, very aware he was dealing with evidence in criminal proceedings.

The first page of the file jarred him at once, as he was sure it did the detectives who first looked at the case, before everything was buttoned up with a bow with that confession and Ben was locked away for a long, long time. Not for treason as Martin was being hunted for, but for the attempted murder of his friends. Now, Sadusky took a deep breath and took in the page, a harshly lit passport-esque photo of a bald man with pronounced facial features and piercing blue eyes. The page it was paperclipped to was a scantly filled in sheet containing various physical data: height, weight, nationality, etc.

“Why is this in Ben’s evidence box?” he asked himself in a low voice as he turned the page over. It quickly became apparent the file wasn’t a file from a nongovernmental agency that he shouldn’t even be looking at. This was something else entirely. The next page was an account of someone else entirely, his face paperclipped in as well. He was an older man, with thick dark hair and brown eyes, clean-shaven but clearly middle aged. His face was starting to show signs of loose skin, but Sadusky could still see sharp cheekbones. The attached paperwork gave basic information on a man named Dr. Peter Aaron Litvenko, a Ukrainian-born biogeneticist who defected in 1964 to the United States seeking protection.

A few pages later, Sadusky could see why. The man was brilliant, top of his class and went to a prestigious Soviet university, straight-A student (or equivalent), and had a shining scientific career, publishing paper after paper and even helping write a textbook. His techniques were novel, and had attracted a lot of attention. Enough attention that a few abstracts from his papers were enclosed. Sadusky skipped over them all, not confident in his ability to understand what on Earth was going on in the man’s head. Notes indicated that his method seemed to be improving over time, and Sadusky took the author of the notes at his word.

He did, however, notice something odd. The last piece of published scientific literature in the folder was dated to 1956. He turned to his computer and ran a quick search, confirming that that was the last date Dr. Litvenko had published anything, even a letter to the editor of Pravda. Sadusky leaned back, considering this. If the current President had given this information to Ben, which, to be frank, Sadusky doubted, then it looked like state-sanctioned espionage.

He could play with that, he realized, and he leaned over to his phone and dialed a special extension. “Yes, I’d like to reach Mr. Greenwood, please,” he said.

***

The man referred to as Mr. Greenwood leaned over and picked up the landline handset on the nightstand. “Greenwood,” he said.

“How’s a raven like a writing desk?” the voice on the other end of the line asked. The man recognized him at once as Agent Peter Sadusky, and the phrase itself denoted a serious case indeed.

“I don’t care for either,” he said. “Why are you asking?”

“I’ve got both.”

He nodded. “I see. What do you want me to do with them?”

“I’d set the raven free but there’s a wrinkle. That’s where I need your help. See the raven says it can’t live without the writing desk, but the writing desk says it would kill a man to get rid of the raven. The raven refuses to leave.”

Now that was a serious problem indeed. “Let me talk to the raven and writing desk, see if we can come to some kind of an agreement.”

“The writing desk won’t be able to talk to you, but I can act on both their behalves. Same spot?”

“How about somewhere different. Just for good measure. The writing desk might have a phone, after all.”

“Good point.” Sadusky gave him the name of a local, not quite so popular park and suggested a bench on the Potomac.

“Sounds great,” he said. “Then you can tell me all about this raven and writing desk.”

“Alright, see you then. About two hours?”

“Alright.” And the man known as Greenwood hung up.

***

Sadusky rubbed his face, hung up briefly, and then picked the handset up again, dialing another number. “Hello,” Riley said, answering almost at once.

“Hello, Riley,” Sadusky replied.

“Sadusky. Something come up?”

“I’ve got something I think can help Ben.”

“Great. Can you pass it along? We’re trying to help Ben too.”

“That depends. What did you have in mind?”

“If you’ve got something better and more legal I’m willing to hear it.”

_So, you are planning something._ “You know that book you wrote?”

“…Yeah?”

“I’ve got a whopper for you.”


	71. 2015: Katia Van Dees Sees An Old Friend

Katia sighed, and leaned against the balcony of Ian’s penthouse, staring out over London. She could feel 47 watching her, standing in the doorway. “Katia,” he said in that quiet, gentle, soft-spoken voice of his that belied a killer.

“Yes?” she replied, just as softly.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” she said. “Not the situation at large, oh no. I get all that. Just…seeing Dmitry again after all this time is…weird.”

“I see.”

There was a moment of silence, and she said, “I met him in Prague in 2001, it was summer, and I only knew him for a few days. I spied around his workplace and car hoping for any clues that indicated he might know or have news of my father. He caught me after I’d gotten out of his car, after I’d broken in. I found a bug, and I…I froze. I told him the truth because I knew if I lied he’d catch me in it and I could die.”

“How much did you tell him?”

“Everything I understood at the time, which isn’t half of what I understand now. I just knew I was looking for a man I couldn’t identify my relation to and sometimes I saw things, I could tell what was happening.” Katia chuckled a little, somewhat wryly. “Some of the hostel kids thought I was psychic, and sometimes asked me if I could tell their future.” 47 just watched her blankly, and she pursed her lips somewhat awkwardly. “Right,” she muttered, looking away a little. “Anyway, I told him all that, and he gave me this.” She pulled the security photo cutting of her father out of her pocket and showed it to him. He took it from her and looked at it for several moments before handing it back to her, and she pocketed it again. “He told me my father had a storage unit in Kiev, with a company owned by a Vasily Alkaev. Vasily’s Storage Service, it was then. I don’t know if it’s changed since then, or even if Alkaev is still alive.”

47 watched her. “Vasily’s Storage Service?” he asked after a moment, as if turning over the name of the business over in his mind. Katia nodded, and he hummed a little bit. “Perhaps you’d like to pay him a visit.”

Katia opened her mouth to speak, and then realized what he’d said. She creased her brow a little bit. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“After all this is over, when and if you feel ready. You might want to pay Mr. Alkaev a visit, if you can.” 

Katia nodded, folding her lips together and looking away from him slightly. “Maybe,” she said after a moment, looking at him again. “After all the dust has settled,” she whispered. “Like you said.”

He nodded a little, and took a couple steps toward her. She wanted to look away again, but she found herself looking back at him. His eyes were softer, and Katia found something inside her relaxing, as seemed to be happening more and more often around him. “I’m not asking you to repress your emotions all the time, Katia,” he said quietly. She watched him for several moments. “Are you alright?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she asked, “Why?”

He stared at her a moment, tilting his head to one side and folding his eyebrows just slightly. Otherwise his expression remained unchanged. Even this change didn’t last long, as he looked at her again and had smoothed over. “I had a job, and I did it.”

“Killing him. It was your job.” She didn’t sound like she believed it, or liked the way those words tasted on her tongue. “What about me? Was I supposed to die, too?”

“No,” he said quietly, after a brief but noticeable pause. “I was supposed to find you alive before they did, or get you back if they got to you first.”

“Why?”

“Your DNA, your abilities. I was told the ICA would like to…acquire you.”

Katia swallowed thickly, though she detected hints that the term made him sick, as well. “They want me to be like you,” she said. He nodded just slightly. She swallowed again. “What do you want?”

He watched her a moment. “Like I said, your father set you free. You deserve a life.”

“And you don’t?”

“It’s too late for me.”

“Is it?”

For long moments 47 said nothing. Katia detected some movement behind him, and looked over his shoulder at Martin, watching her cautiously, awkwardly. “Yes?” she asked quietly.

“I…I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, gesturing to the door as if offering to leave.

“You haven’t interrupted,” 47 said simply, quietly, reassuringly. He nodded briefly to Katia, and then walked past Martin deeper into the apartment.

“It’s alright,” Katia said. “We were just…That man I asked you about in Prague was my father,” she said finally, honestly, without gesticulation or shaking her head. Her arms had folded across her chest.

“Was?” Martin asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “He’s dead,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s…” She fell silent, not sure if she should say it was alright, or it wasn’t his fault, but she had nothing, and nothing felt right. “I found him, though. You gave me my first real lead, I think. Thanks to you I knew what he looked like. I continued to draw him, however, based on what little I remembered. But you helped a lot.”

“I’m…glad. I don’t remember Prague very much, or at all really. I had an accident in Iraq in 2004, and lost all memory of my life before that.” Katia nodded slowly, lips still pursed. “I’m…I was hoping you could tell me about…”

“About knowing you in Prague?” Katia asked, and Martin nodded with a small affirmative. Katia smiled a little. “As I said, the first time I saw you, you were kicking the shit out of the owner of a small trucking company. I learned later he did business with a gentleman named Doku Zakayev, smuggling drugs. Didn’t he sell on the side? I heard that somewhere but it could be a rumor.”

Something flashed across Martin’s eyes, and he nodded, though Katia could tell half his mind was somewhere else. “Sounds about right,” he said softly.

“I snuck back into your improvised office space later that day, looking for clues. I thought you might know the man I was looking for. Back then I didn’t know who he was, or how I was connected to him, and I didn’t have a lot to go on, I just knew I needed to find him, and I thought you might be able to offer information.”

“You broke in first because you were scared.”

Katia nodded. “Broke into your workspace and your car, which is where I found a bug. I told you I found it when you spotted me walking away from the car. I have this survival instinct; it’s stronger than it is for most. It told me I should tell you the truth, and so I did. I told you everything, about the survival instinct, about the ability to detect what will happen in the near future, find the safest point in any given room or the safest route home. The things I just…knew,” she shrugged. “I told you about the man I was looking for, that I didn’t know who he was or why I was looking for him, just that I needed to look for him. I knew you were Russian or Eastern European, and had connections, so I figured you would be able to help me. So I asked. And, as I recall, you offered to teach me _fenya_. I met you and your three friends, Vladislav, Alexei, and Yevgeny. The four of you talked shop for an hour and a half and I absorbed what you were saying and I learned the language that way.”

“Was it an outdoor table, near a wood pillar? Summer time. Drinks, light brunch.”

Katia nodded. “I had a salad,” she said with a slight smile. “You’re remembering, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I…I am. Talking seems to help recover memories without the headaches I’ve been getting otherwise.”

“Headaches?” Martin nodded, and Katia did in kind, looking down and pursing her lips as she considered this. She looked up again. “You’d given me contact information for a man who ran a storage facility in Kiev, so I called him before our brunch meeting, and he told me the man had planned to go to Berlin after purchasing the unit. A few days after our meeting I was preparing to catch a train to Berlin, but I decided I wanted to see you again and say goodbye in person, and thank you, before I left.”

“And how did that go?”

“I barely got the words out before I noticed someone was there to kill you. He looked like 47, but he wasn’t. He was another one. I kind of forgot about him for a while afterward, like I purposefully tried to forget a lot of things about Prague. I guided you out and through the city, until we were out of options, and I…I think I grabbed your knife and rushed him, shoving him into the wall. You were there seconds later. We saved each other’s lives.”

“You should’ve stuck around.” Katia paused, noting immediately the change in his accent as he smiled, laughing a little. “Would’ve been a big help with all the trouble the FBI got me into after you left.” He put a little emphasis on each letter in ‘FBI’, Katia noted.

“D-Dmitry?” she asked, uncertain whether she should try to get 47 back on the balcony or not. She could feel him close by, after all. “I…”

Dmitry chuckled. “Surprised, Katia?” There it was, that little inflection that made the ‘I’ sound like a ‘Y’. All at once Katia was back there, in his office in 2001, scared and waiting for his judgment, almost certain he was going to kill her.


	72. 2007: Marching Orders

The Agent allowed his negotiating partner time to gather her thoughts, as she seemed clearly shaken by their encounter, by her increasingly emotional efforts to get a response out of him beyond “Not your/my concern.” He sighed and leaned heavily against the back of the driver’s seat, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the headrest. His hands fell off the wheel into his lap. They had arranged to meet the next day, in a warehouse somewhere near their current location, to see if they could really come to some kind of agreement. He had no idea if this was going to work or not.

But, he had his marching orders, and he needed to move forward with them in order to maintain his cover. He sighed again, fishing out his phone and flipping it open, pressing a number and holding the phone to his ear. The other end of the line rang three times, and he heard two clicks, as he expected: one was the tap picking up the phone to monitor the communication, and the other was his handler. “Yes?” a young male voice replied.

“Asset 108,” he replied. “Agent 23. There’s trouble.” Carefully, 23 explained his situation, and his handler, a young rising star in what was known in those walls as The Company, made appropriate noises of understanding at proper times to show he kept up with 23’s current situation in the operation.

When 23 finished, the man said, “OK, you can’t risk blowing your cover now. Remember, you need to get to a point where you become familiar with the upper echelons of Verax and Ensign, alright?”

“Alright.”

“But, you’re not going to risk the lives of people who are going to target and topple Octagon, if what you say is true.”

“So you can see I’m in a real predicament. Never mind that what Jackie said…about the clones and Nuremburg and such…it got to me.”

“You’re having second thoughts?”

“Sort of. I…I want the best for the Octagon clones. I think they deserve it.”

“Ahh, I see.” He heard his handler lick his lips a little. “You still need to maintain your cover. You understand the imperative of this?”

“Yes.”

The man took a deep breath. “Top priority is protect those civilians. A close second is maintaining your cover. Are you confident that you can do both?”

“Yes,” 23 replied.

“Good.” He took another breath. “Listen, Agent, I understand your emotional pull to protect the clones from Octagon. I believe the best way to do that is to allow the four people sent to rescue them, to do their jobs.”

23 nodded. “OK,” he said. “For the good of the clones.”

“Good luck, Agent.”

“Thanks, mate.”

***

Jackie paced back and forth, wringing her hands and running her fingers through her hair. Shaw, Damian, and Riley watched her in increasingly awkward silence, but it was Shaw who finally broke it. “You…OK?” he asked.

“No,” Jackie said, stopping her pacing and facing him. “What I said to that guy to get him to stop tailing us, setting up a meeting… I feel like I shouldn’t have even _had_ to. I feel like it should be obvious when I say that a company is _creating_ its own humans that there are _probably_ more than a few human rights violations going on,” she finished, smiling a little like she cracked.

“Maybe we should write to Geneva,” Riley said, shrugging a little. Jackie couldn’t help but snicker heavily in response. Even Damian and Shaw couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Your jokes were never really that bad, Riley,” Shaw said.

“Of course he’s probably only saying that because you’re into his boss’s cousin and she’s standing right there,” Damian added. He cracked a small smile, and Shaw, Riley, and Jackie looked at him. Shaw simply looked away and shrugged, and Riley shook his head. Jackie recovered from her slight snicker at Damian’s suggestion, and looked at Shaw.

“We can’t abandon our mission,” she said to him. He nodded, and she nodded back and looked at Damian. “You guys deserve that much, the ones we saved already deserve that much, and the other two hundred something deserve it, too.”

“Any ideas?” Riley asked. “Because as far as I could tell, that guy wanted to kill us.”

“He was ordered to,” Damian said. “Jackie got through to him, and you could tell before that, he didn’t want to carry out his orders. He doesn’t have much choice. My theory is Verax will kill him if he doesn’t obey.”

Shaw glanced at him, then looked at Jackie. “What do you think of that?”

“Can we offer him protection?” she asked him.

Shaw shook his head. “Not likely,” he said. “Remember it’s Ian’s criminal enterprise against a massive organization that has public backing.” Jackie nodded.

“Looks like we have to trust his good word. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that.”

“If it helps I’m not comfortable with it, either,” Riley said, shrugging.

“Thanks, Ri.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Damian said. “Riley can stay with me, for safety’s sake, and you and Shaw can break into the facility and free the others. We might even get them all out before something really bad happens, and nobody would act against what’s for all intents and purposes an army of highly trained killers.”

“Damian’s right,” Shaw said. “We have to move fast and we have to keep it together. Riley, you don’t have the training, you haven’t worked with us on jobs. Jackie has. You’ll be safer under Damian’s watch, and Jackie and I can get the job done.”

“Does it get me not shot at?” Riley asked.

“Yes,” Damian said.

He nodded, tilting his head and pursing his lips for a moment. “I can live with that,” he said.

“So we have a plan,” Jackie said.

“Good,” Shaw added. “Rest up. We move at dawn.”


	73. 2015: Benjamin Franklin Gates Tastes Free Air

Jackie watched Agent Sadusky for a long time while he and Riley talked, and Sadusky revealed facts he couldn’t in his office at the Hoover building and, in some cases, shouldn’t be revealing there.

“I just got out of a meeting with the former president,” he explained at one point, leaning forward and folding his arms on the outside table at the café they’d chosen as their meeting place, watching them both. “He tells me he’s going to tell the world that he was ordered by the Freedom of Information Act to reveal that Ben was prosecuted while serving his country in an espionage case, and he will be released as soon as possible.”

“All our planning,” Jackie said with a light scoff. She looked at Sadusky. “I want to pin a medal to your chest. This is a lot more legal than anything I’m used to dreaming up.”

“Oh?” he asked, looking at her and lifting his eyebrows.

“You know my cousin.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Ian Howe,” he said, leaning back as if looking at a file. “That explains a lot.”

Jackie smiled lightly, easily at him. “Thank you,” she said. “You and your friend are saving us a lot of trouble.”

“Glad to hear it, Miss Howe.”

“My list of legal issues is long enough,” Jackie said with a slight laugh. “I mean, I was raised by a criminal.”

Sadusky glanced at Riley, who said, “Taken in when she was ten by some cousins across the Pond, really _weird_ family story.”

“I don’t like talking about it much,” she said. “Riley…knows a few details, but I haven’t told him everything.”

Sadusky nodded. “I see.” He glanced at Riley. “Going to tell your cohorts?”

“Plan to,” Riley replied. “Keep us posted when your friend pulls through?”

“You’ve got it,” Sadusky said as he moved to stand. “I’ll call you as soon as I get word that he’s done what he said he was going to do.” Jackie and Riley nodded, and he bid farewell to them both as he walked back down the street the way he had come.

***

Anderson Crawford, formerly known as the President of the United States, walked across the shiny tile of the office building, adjusting the cuffs of his suit and scanning around without moving his head. He had long since mastered the art of projecting confidence and presenting an attitude of “in charge” to people around him. He found it helped stabilize situations that could turn into national crises, or international ones.

The conference room was at the rear of the building, empty at that time of day save for him and the man he was to meet with, who he spotted already behind the glass doors. He pushed one open and let himself in. “Evening, Director,” he said. “When I was in office,” he remarked, “You were an assistant director in a division of the FBI.”

“Well times change, Former President Crawford,” Acting Director Connors replied with a smile as he glanced at the table, a picture of amiability, though Crawford knew he recognized the compliment when he heard it.

“Anderson, please,” Crawford replied, also a picture of amiability. “Though to be frank, I have a formal matter to discuss with you.”

“I understand, from your message, that the matter is urgent?”

“Correct. I’m interested in preventing an international diplomatic crisis. Let me be blunt, if I may. The prisoner, Benjamin Franklin Gates, that you have in custody for trying to blow up his friends and cohorts in London? For one you know no one believed it for a minute, especially his friends and family, but for another…at the time of his trial Mr. Gates was working a particularly…sensitive espionage case. You’re aware of his particular talents, I’m sure.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Now, I tasked Mr. Gates with tracking someone down for me, and it was in the course of this investigation that your predecessor imprisoned him for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“The man confessed, and Bennett did what he had to do. He did his job.”

“That’s not how the public is going to see it, and you know that. Someone requested documents on this matter through the Freedom of Information Act, so now I am in an incredibly uncomfortable position, considering the coming election season. Everything will be under scrutiny, everything.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Benjamin Gates was serving his country. On those grounds, and on a mountain of evidence to the contrary of his committing this crime, I want to ask, no, demand, his release.”

Connors straightened, keeping Crawford’s careful, watchful eyes. He seemed somewhat nervous. “Don’t worry, agent,” Crawford said soothingly. “This can be easily fixed. You have a covert officer for the United States government in custody under false pretenses. Just release him, and,” he made a gesture with his hands, along the lines of ‘poof’, “it will all go away. Not even an ink stain on your record.”

Connors watched him a long moment, his expression speaking to at least some of the indecision going through his mind. Crawford remained peaceful, watchful, careful. “You have proof that Gates is our covert officer?”

“Yes.”

“And that he did not commit the crime for which he is currently serving time?”

“Like I said, a mountain of evidence.”

Connors nodded simply. “Very well. Given this is a matter of national security it should be arranged as soon as possible?”

Crawford smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

Connors nodded. “I’ll get to it right away, then.”

“Thank you, so much,” Crawford said, nodding to Connors, bidding farewell, and turning to leave.

***

Ben started awake when he heard someone rapping at his door. It wasn’t time for the morning rounds, he knew that much, and when he sat up, the shape in front of his door was watching him intently. “Gates?” he asked, and Ben recognized the voice of a prison guard.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Ben replied, sitting up further. “Is there a problem?”

“Nope. A solution.” The guard paused a moment, though Ben wasn’t quite following. “You’re being released.”

“How?”

The guard shrugged. “Friends in high places, I guess. Now c’mon, up and at ‘em. Get your things out of your cell, and we’ll get your stuff from property holding and you can go. Maybe call up your friends and that fiancée of yours. Sure she’d be happy to hear from you.”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure she would,” he said, grinning as he started to gather the pencil, paper, and couple of books still stashed in his cell. “I think these are your guys’,” he said, handing the guard the books. The guard nodded and tucked them under his arm as he led Ben to property holding for his civilian’s clothes and other personal effects.

“May I ask, what brings this about?” Ben asked the guard as he took his box of things.

The guard shook his head. “I’m…not allowed to say,” he said. “And really, I don’t know. It’s need to know, or so they tell me. They just said let you go, so…” The guard shrugged.

“Need to know,” Ben repeated, chuckling a little and shaking his head. “I know what that means.” He walked over to the restroom provided, taking exactly ten minutes to change back into the very suit he wore to court. It was stiff and slightly rumpled from being boxed away for so long, but the plastic had protected it from the dust. When he emerged, he handed the box back to the guard, who put it back on the shelf.

“Right this way, Mr. Gates,” he said, leading Ben down a corridor. Two other guards flanked a door, and at his signal, began opening the door. “Congratulations,” the guard said as they reached the threshold and turned to face each other. “You are now a free man.”

Ben took a deep breath of the fresh air beyond and said, “It’s a great feeling.”

The guard laughed a little and clapped him on the shoulder. “Best of luck to you, man.”

“Thanks, same to you,” Ben replied, and he stepped out onto the earth, toward a familiar man standing near an unmarked armored vehicle, part of a Secret Service motorcade.

Crawford grinned at him, and extended his hand. “Congratulations,” he said.

“Thank you,” Ben replied, shaking his hand and smiling.

“How was it in prison? Have you figured anything out?”

“Oh yeah, in the first three months. After that I took to trying to decode Bible verses,” he said, laughing a little. “I thought I’d gone mad!”

Crawford chuckled, and then turned to the car, popping open the rear door himself. “Here, let me drive you home. Same place, right?”

“Last time I checked. And thank you, Mr. President.”

Crawford chuckled. “I haven’t been President in a long time. Call me Anderson, or Mr. Crawford, if you insist.”

Ben chuckled. “Will do, Mr. Crawford.” He settled back in the seat and looked out the window. “What’s new in the world?” he asked, looking back at Crawford.

“Same old, same old. Still going to shit. The upcoming election season is giving me nightmares.” Ben nodded as he spoke, and Crawford continued, “There’s been a development in the case I had you work back in ’07.”

“Yeah?”

“The doctor, Dr. Litvenko? Blew up in a helicopter over Singapore just a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Intelligence reports suggest he left behind a daughter, as well as the surviving Agents.”

“Agents _survived_ that hellacious program?”

“Astonishingly, yes. A good number, in fact.”

Ben nodded, leaning back and staring out the window again, bringing his hand to his mouth in a thoughtful pose. Prison had yet to dull his mind by the time he’d been released, and for that he was quite grateful. “What’s the mission now?” he asked, catching the translucent reflection of the former President in the mirror.

“Right now? Get home to your family and friends,” Crawford replied, looking at him, studying him. “They’ll get you caught up on the latest developments, especially concerning Verax. You’ve heard of Martin Odum?”

“Briefly, yes,” Ben replied, looking at Crawford. “Agent Sadusky mentioned him once when he visited.”

“He told you about his brother?”

“Yes.”

Crawford nodded. “You’ll catch up just fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Gates?”

“Yes, sir?”

“We are at war. There are no guns or calls for troops or manufacturing tanks or anything like that, but we are at war. The balance of power in this country has tipped dangerously toward a massive corporation that is sucking the life-blood out of this country. Out of our ideals. You’re already familiar with this corporation, but now you’re not the only one with a motive, with a reason. This is the second American Revolution. Every man counts, and we are counting on every man.”

Ben nodded, recognizing a call to arms when he heard it. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said. “You can count on me.”

Crawford nodded. “Glad to hear it.”


	74. 2007: Phil McGregor Pays A Friend A Visit

Phil caught up with Katia later that evening, spotting her huddled in an alleyway across from a hotel, keeping watch. “Hey,” he said. She jumped a little and straightened, looking up at him. “Thanks for your help.”

Katia nodded a little. “There’s a meeting set for tomorrow,” she explained. “If anything will happen, it will happen then.”

“Good work,” he said, reaching over to clap her on the shoulder. She flinched back in response. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said, taking a slight step away and looking at the hotel. “They’re in there, Room 1213. I presume they’re deliberating over how to execute their plan in light of the new complication.”

Phil nodded. “Thanks, kid.” He reached into his pocket, and rifled through his wallet, handing her a couple of large bills. “For all your hard work.”

“Thank you,” Katia replied, nodding and stepping onto the sidewalk, folding and pocketing the bills. She looked over her shoulder at Phil. “The adversary’s from Verax. Do you know what that means?”

“I know they’re a PMC, and a top one. We’ve got a long fight ahead of us.”

“Stay alive,” Katia said, and with that she disappeared into the crowd.

Phil stared after her for several long moments, and then turned and walked across the street to the hotel, crossing the lobby to the elevator.

***

Damian looked up from a bag of chips at the sound of footsteps down the hall. Carefully he got out of bed and went to the door, and Shaw, Jackie, and Riley followed him with their eyes. He stepped into the closet space near the door and watched, waiting, perhaps anticipating an attack. Shaw slid off the bed and walked over to his hiding spot, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said softly, nodding a little. Damian straightened and slipped out of his position to take up a new one behind Shaw.

There was a knock at the door, and Shaw eased it open a crack, then nearly threw it open. “Phil!” he said, wrapping the man into a one-armed hug. Phil laughed a little. “What’re you doing here, man?” Shaw asked as he led Phil into the room. Damian relaxed, recognizing him, and leaned the door closed.

“This little kid called me,” Phil said. “I mean not a little kid she’s like a teenager, but still. I don’t know how she found out who I even was, maybe she saw us in the paper. I don’t know. But she called me and told me she thought someone was watching you. I had her track you and keep me posted until I got here.”

“Well she was right about us being followed,” Shaw said. “Did she tell you about the meeting, too?”

“Yeah. She said if anything was going to happen, it was gonna be then and there.”

Shaw nodded. “Kinda figured,” he said. “Any other news?”

“Not really.”

Shaw nodded again. “Sounds good,” he said, and he walked over to the bed and took a seat. Phil sat across from him, and Damian stepped into the room proper. “Thanks for your help, man,” Shaw was saying.

“Don’t thank me,” Phil replied. “I’d say thank that girl but I don’t know her name or where I can find her again. She could be a ghost for all I know,” he finished with a shrug.

“If her information is good it doesn’t matter if she’s dead or not,” Damian said. “She delivered, of her own free will, something we need to know to stay alive in this battle we’re fighting.”

“Can we stop talking about it, please?” Riley asked them from the hotel room desk. “It’s not until tomorrow anyway, and I’d like to get some sleep without being haunted by the prospect that I might _die_ tomorrow.”

Shaw looked over his shoulder at him, and then nodded. “OK. We’ll try to get some sleep. Damian and I will keep first watch.”

Riley seemed a little surprised but threw his affirmative in with those of the others. Shaw detected the matter settled, and stood and walked over to where Damian stood. “Ready, kid?”

“As ready as I can be,” Damian replied.


	75. 2015: Benjamin Franklin Gates Returns Home

Abigail waited up, chewing her lip as she watched Riley snore, sprawled out on the couch. Her eyes went to his cane, which lay on the floor next to the sofa and parallel to it. She’d heard the stories in private, after all the madness had died down, about what happened in London, the explosion. Her heart broke a little for him, though she knew he would want nothing to do with her pity.

“It took months,” Jackie said softly, and Abigail jumped a little bit and looked at her. She was staring at Riley as well, arms folded across her chest. “The physical therapy and recovery. It took months. He still can’t feel his leg very well. The doctors said it was equal parts pinched nerves and bad bone fractures. I suppose that makes sense, given what actually happened—he was thrown out of the car and against a brick wall.” Jackie swallowed thickly, closing her eyes and bowing her head slightly. She sighed a little and looked at him again. “He hates them to his very bones for what happened to him. All he needs is the signal from Ian and his crew and he’ll deliver a blow Verax can’t recover from. All their money gone, all their secrets leaked…it’s what he’s wanted since the day he woke up in the hospital. I just hope whatever’s going on there doesn’t impede that.”

“I think there might be an opportunity yet,” Abigail said. “The latest developments Ian told me about? I’m sure there’s a record of them somewhere in Riley’s hidden cache. If we leak it, since they want it all swiftly covered up, we could ruin them.”

“The shot heard around the world,” Jackie said with a slight smirk. “I’ll see if I can get a hold of him.” She stepped into another room, fishing her phone out of her pocket, just as someone knocked on the front door. Abigail went to answer, but Jackie still turned and looked, curious, intrigued, and somewhat unnerved. Abigail nodded over her shoulder to Jackie, and opened the door.

“Abigail,” Ben said, with a broad smile. He then had the distinct pleasure of watching her expression shift through confusion and into a sort of guarded uncertainty as she tilted her head and readied herself to ask him what he was doing here. Over his shoulder, out of the corner of her eye almost, she spotted former President Crawford standing down the drive, hands loosely clasped in front of him, watching.

“H-how did you get out?” she asked.

“The…former president said I was a spy serving my country at the time of my arrest and conviction,” Ben replied, shifting slightly as if wanting to step past her but practicing enough restraint to wait. She noted this, paused a moment to consider her decision, glanced at Crawford once more, and stepped to the side, allowing him entry. He nodded to her and stepped into the living room, looking around a little.

“I fed them some bullshit about the Freedom of Information Act and campaign season,” Crawford said, as he reached the porch. “If I end up endorsing somebody I wouldn’t want it to come to light that I let a US operative get detained on trumped up charges and rot in jail.”

“So why not sooner?” Abigail asked.

“Because once, I can let slide, but Verax did it again just a few days ago. There might be more, but I don’t know about them.”

“And,” Ben said, turning to face them, “he did make sure I could continue my work in prison, even if I didn’t get very far.” Abigail nodded slowly. By then Riley had groggily stirred; while he could sleep through anything, it was as if the air of huge news had chosen to rouse him. He reached up to rub his eyes with one hand, groaned, and tried to roll over.

“Riley wait!” Abigail said, reaching out to grab his shoulder before he fell on his face on the floor. She breathed a sigh of relief when she caught him and pulled him back onto the sofa. Riley moaned a little and settled back on the sofa, looking up at her.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to sit up. His eyes found Ben almost immediately. “Ben,” he said.

“Riley,” Ben replied, nodding to him.

He moved to stand, and Abigail held up a hand to help steady him, though he never took it. He limped heavily around the end table and stood to face him. “Bum knee?” Ben asked.

Riley shook his head a little. “Bum hip.” Ben nodded.

Jackie stepped out of the kitchen and lowered her phone from her ear, and then stopped cold when she saw Ben standing there. She noted the brief pause as he tried to recognize her, and her eyes slid to the former President, a man she’d seen on the news numerous times over his term, usually playing his State of the Union addresses as white noise while she worried about any number of other things. “I…just got off the phone with Ian,” she said, looking at Abigail and Riley. “He said we’re on to something with what we have from the flash drive Phil planted.”

Abigail nodded, and Riley looked at her. “So…we release?” he asked.

“He still says wait for his signal; he wants this perfectly timed, but he’ll still give you plenty of advance notice.”

Riley nodded. “OK,” he said softly.

“So, uh…anyone wanna catch me up?” Ben asked.

“I’m…so sorry,” Abigail said to Crawford. “Where are my manners? Here, let me get you something to drink.” She led him into the kitchen and he followed with a smile on his face, as if more than happy to be pleasant.

“Yeah,” Jackie said to Ben. “How about you have a seat,” she gestured to one of the armchairs while she moved to take a seat on the end of the sofa. Riley settled in next to her, leaning on her a little. She wrapped an arm around his back and rubbed his arm gently. “Remember the explosion they framed you for?” she asked. Ben nodded tentatively. “They framed somebody else, too. He doesn’t really remember it, but he’s my cousin. That’s really what kick-started this whole thing, because Ian doesn’t take at all kindly to people trying to target his brother.”

Ben nodded, pursing his lips a little. “Sounds like Ian,” he replied with a light smile.

Jackie smiled, too, and continued laying out all that had happened since the release of Martin Odum’s videotaped confession.


	76. 2015: A Late Night Over The Evidence

Sadusky took a sip from his coffee mug, and rubbed his face, exhaling and staring at the collection of papers and evidence on Martin Odum’s case. “You’re looking at that fingerprint report, aren’t you,” Maggie said, and he looked up.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Here,” he added, and he stood and walked over to his closet. “Don’t worry, the rifle’s not mine, and it’s not loaded.” He retrieved it carefully and set it against the wall, as if he were aiming at a target dozens of stories above his head. Then, he turned to Maggie and gestured to the gun. “Pick it up. Pretend you just ran out of that warehouse room and were too late trying to stop the real shooter. Pretend you’re Martin.”

Maggie nodded, and put on a show of running, skidding to a stop just in front of the gun, and picking it up, barrel first and her other hand finding the area near the trigger guard moments later. “That’s where Martin’s prints were found,” he explained. “Now, put the gun back and let me show you something.” Maggie nodded again, and replaced the gun. Sadusky eased himself onto the floor and positioned himself in front of the gun. “I’m shooting at a target a dozen or so stories above my head,” he explained, and his hand went to the trigger guard and his other hand went to the barrel, on the underside to support it. “Do you see the difference?”

“Y-yeah,” Maggie replied. Sadusky released the gun and eased himself to his feet, with a little of her assistance.

“Martin Odum is right-handed. So are a lot of his legends. The gun found is a left-handed make. A custom designed and manufactured piece, worth a lot of money.”

“Well, Verax can certainly afford it,” she said, cocking her eyebrows and looking away and down a little.

“The shooter is left-handed,” Sadusky continued, walking back over to the table. “Probably wore gloves, too.”

“A trained professional,” she said, catching on to what he was trying to say.

“Exactly.”

“Martin’s…trained, isn’t he?”

“Only in the basics of firearms, for self-defense and cover purposes. He never underwent extensive assassination training. However, I could think of a long list of Verax personnel off the top of my head who could’ve had such training.”

Maggie nodded. “I see. So…you think Spiller’s real killer is a hired assassin. Does Verax have a division for wetworks?”

Sadusky shrugged. “It’s possible. They have their own CIA. They have the FBI. They have votes in Congress, even some celebrity backing. And…note how they framed Martin.”

“Using his legend John Cameron.”

Sadusky nodded. “John Cameron was a rising star in Verax and stationed in Basra with other employees, doing work for the US government but using that as a cover to make over a billion dollars and Saddam Hussein’s WMD disappear.” He snapped his fingers and settled back in his chair, eyeing her for a moment.

“Operation Raining Fire.”

“Precisely.”

Maggie took a seat across from him, staring out over the case file sprawled out across Sadusky’s table. She raised her eyes to his again. “There were four hundred dead at Basra, in Operation Raining Fire…They wanted it covered up because most of the dead were Verax. To say nothing of the fact that their actions in Basra were…”

“Treason,” Sadusky supplied. “Stealing money from the US government, intended for peacekeeping funds; hiding WMD and not even telling the covert operatives in the government, presumably to sell them later on the open market; God knows what else.”

“Martin might.”

“No. Martin doesn’t remember anything about that, but if we could find John Cameron, well…John Cameron might know.”

“John Cameron is Martin Odum.”

“Exactly. We need his Six files, and maybe if we get in touch with Martin, we can talk John Cameron out of him.”

“You…think that will work?”

“I know there’s some bleedover between the legends, and I think that’s our path to the information we need.”

Maggie nodded resolutely. “I’ll get right on it,” she said.


	77. 2015: Katia Van Dees Prepares For Attack

Katia scanned the gathering around Ian Howe’s kitchen table: Ian, Shaw, herself, 47, and Martin all sat there, going over the second phase of their plan. Ian lowered his cell phone and looked at them. “Riley’s still waiting for the cue to leak all of Verax’s files and transfer their funds to the account we set up for the purpose,” he said, taking in the table at large.

“Coordinate it,” Katia said. “Not with Jason Shaw’s death as you initially thought, but with removing the secret cabal behind the scenes. This is about exposure, is it not?”

“It is.”

“So maybe they don’t need to die.”

47 looked at her, a move Shaw caught. “She might be on to something,” she said. “All we really need to do is leak names and addresses, and the details of their activities. We have enough information to cause so much damage they could never hope to cover it up, and without access to their funding, well…” Shaw shrugged, as if to say “the rest is history.”

Katia looked at 47. “What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s not Verax I’m worried about,” he said. The soft chill of his voice carried across the room, bringing a heavy silence over everyone. “In fact, I couldn’t care less about Verax. My concern is the doctor.”

“Dr. Ort-Meyer,” Katia said, catching on as she looked at the others just briefly before looking at him again. 47 gave the slightest, almost imperceptible of nods, and his eyes went to Ian.

“Do you _know_ who Dr. Ort-Meyer is?” he asked in a slow, careful voice. Ian shook his head a little, knitting his eyebrows together. “He is ruthless and brilliant, a recognized expert in the genetic sciences, only one man was his better: Dr. Peter Aaron Litvenko.” 47 glanced at Katia, gauging her reaction as he mentioned her father. She wondered herself if she was good at hiding her emotions, metabolizing them, or worrying about something else as a distraction. “They worked together on the Agent Program until Litvenko disappeared, and then the program fell apart. After that point, it’s presumed, he took on other work.”

“And that’s where Verax comes in,” Ian said, catching on as well. 47 nodded again, ever so slightly.

“Verax is a PMC on paper,” Shaw said. “That’s probably a cover for something else.”

“Exactly.”

Katia blanched suddenly and looked at 47. “You don’t think—”

He looked at her with the same fluid grace he did almost everything. “I’m almost certain.” He leaned forward. “It isn’t just a few isolated attempts emulating a great master, Katia,” he said softly. “It’s a movement. Don’t ask me where it ends, because I don’t know.”

He leaned back again, and Katia straightened a little, a soft movement across the table attracting her attention. Martin had just finished leaning forward toward Shaw. “What the devil are they talking about?” he asked in a low voice.

“Cloning,” Shaw replied.

“Like…with people?”

Katia didn’t register if Shaw said anything in response or not, having noticed something else, something her brain seemed to decide was much more pressing. “Someone’s coming,” she said softly to 47, and she stood and edged her way carefully to the sprawling windows of the penthouse apartment. 47 stood carefully and followed her. She leaned against the window frame, peering down at the street below. “Do me a favor,” she said. “Keep eyes on the front door.”

“Katia—”

“Please, 47. Just do it,” she insisted, looking at him. He nodded to her, and turned to the door, keeping to the wall as he made his way across. Katia looked back out the window, watching the street, keeping her ears peeled. Three cars parked right in the middle of the road, causing considerable alarm and outrage amongst other motorists and pedestrians, and Katia watched as a number of armed men got out and rushed toward the apartment complex, followed by a man in white, straightening his coat on his shoulders.

She looked over at 47, who looked back at her. She held up fingers indicating that there were twelve men coming, and he nodded and looked at the door again. She listened throughout the building, attention lured by the distant opening of a door and feet pounding up the stairs.

_How did they find us?_ she asked herself, and she tried to think in a linear fashion. _They found us because they were looking for us. There are cameras all over this city and one has surely captured us. They recognize us. But it wasn’t the cameras. How do you know? How do I know? Because they would’ve found us sooner if it was the cameras. They would’ve found me in D.C. if it was the cameras. It wasn’t the cameras. So what was it? An informant? An overheard conversation? A bug?_ She shook her head, and realized she’d been operating on a false assumption. “Bruv,” she said, “change of plans. Get Martin Odum out of here.”

“You can’t hold them off by yourself.”

“I don’t need to.”


	78. 2015: An Old Man Pays A Visit

When Dr. Ort-Meyer reached the top floor, trailing behind the squadron of well-trained soldiers easily, he found all of them crammed into a little space between a door and the elevator and door to the stairwell. They tried to make way for him, but he simply nodded to the door. One of the men kicked in the door, bracing himself against two others. The action startled a young woman inside, causing her to yelp, leap up from the sofa, and demand “What the absolute fuck are you doing?!” from the men as she moved to the door they had damaged.

The man blinked, looking around and asking, “Uh…are we sure we have the right place?”

“Look at this! Look at this! Do you have any idea how much I paid for this door?” the woman continued to yell, gesturing to the broken door. “Do you know how much it will cost to get this fixed? On top of which now I have to install like six security systems! How do you think I’m going to pay for all that on my own?”

The men started to fidget a little until Dr. Ort-Meyer held up a hand to stop them, bringing them to attention and watching him. The woman stopped shouting and stared at him, her hands falling to her sides. He lowered his hand as well and stepped past the men to the threshold. “Did we trouble you…Quatre-vingt-dix?” he asked.

Katia had known the jig wouldn’t last long, and had only intended it to startle the man if he wasn’t who she thought he’d been. But he was, and he’d just proven as much. “Not at all,” she said with a tight half-smile. “Please, come in. But do leave your thugs outside.” She took a small step to the side, allowing him entry, and he nodded to her and thanked her in German. She closed the door as much as she was able.

“I’ll have to pay the man who owns this place to replace that,” she remarked. “I’m sure he can cover it on his own but it’s the principle of the thing.”

Ort-Meyer laughed. “I see,” he said, turning to face her. “Do you consider yourself very principled, Quatre?”

She turned and looked at him, keeping her distance. “I try to be, but some circumstances are causing me to…question a few things,” she replied.

“Mr…47?” She tensed, saying nothing. “Ah, I see. Tell me, how is he these days?”

“Alive.”

Ort-Meyer hummed, and took a step closer to her. She fought the urge to step back. “And your father?”

“Don’t ask me about him,” Katia spat. Something about this man in particular asking about Litvenko sickened her, and everything she’d thought she’d metabolized or repressed bubbled up: anger, pain, fear, sadness…but most of it was anger.

Ort-Meyer hummed again. “Very well,” he said, taking another step, swaying a little on the balls of his feet. He looked up at her, stopping in his rocking motion, and met her gaze. “I thought you might like to speak of him, though. It’s my understanding that your memories are…lacking?”

_Take the opportunity_ , Katia thought to herself. But she also thought, _You can’t do it, it’s too soon, you’re not ready._ She swallowed thickly, spending precious moments trapped in her indecision. “I do,” she said, after what was only to the good doctor a brief moment’s pause. “But not about recent events. I want to know about the Program.” She tilted her head a little, pausing for effect this time. “I want to know everything about…what made me.” She masked remarkably well that the fact that she was made almost caused her to stumble over the words.

Dr. Ort-Meyer chuckled, shaking his head a little. “The Agent Program,” he said. “It was one of my finest hours, a proof of concept for my friend and I.”

“You were friends with my father? I thought he would’ve mentioned you as someone we could go to.” _Provided he had the time._

“Your father was a genius, accredited, acclaimed, recognized. But the important thing was his love of knowledge, his pursuit of answers. He thrived on solving little mysteries, and improving on what already existed.”

“Like making the process better, more efficient, more humane?”

“Something like that. If you can call anything involving clones ‘humane’.” He chuckled, and Katia wondered where on that scale he stood. “He was a scientist, through and through, whereas I…wanted to apply things, if you know what I mean.”

“Applied sciences,” she said. “Finding a purpose or a problem and…designing a solution.”

“Exactly.”

“What were they?” He stopped his slight pacing and looked at her again, dead in the eye and somewhat pale, surprised at her question. “What were they to you?” she asked again. “The clones. What were they?”

“Soldiers,” he replied finally, perhaps sensing that if he lied to her, she would notice, take issue, probably cause a fight and kill most or all of his guard detail before she was finally subdued. If he told her the truth, however, well, perhaps then he had a chance at survival.

“For what?”

“For the Cold War, of course. We had no idea when it was going to turn hot, and we had to be prepared. Neither government could be trusted to do what needed to be done, so I had to do it.”

“What? Create men who could fight the Cold War? On what side?”

“The side of the winners. I had no ideological stake, but I was certainly not about to let my work be vilified by whichever side won, if I was opposite them in the conflict.”

“Capitalism, Communism, it didn’t matter to you. It mattered that your little pet project wouldn’t get you in trouble.”

Ort-Meyer nodded. “I should say here that really it was your father’s idea, but he wanted to see if it could be done.”

“You wanted to see if the results were useful.”

“Very good, Quatre.”

“But then Litvenko disappeared, fled from the Program entirely, and his Agents. The Program collapsed. What did you do then?”

“I was angry, for a few months, but I knew I had to live to fight another day, rather than get captured doing something incredibly stupid as some have done. So I vanished into another organization, one that I created.”

“One that would become Verax.”

Again, he nodded, smiling a little. She felt like a schoolgirl in a class of one, and oddly it was like she was on the spot a little. Perhaps that was the exact situation, at least in Ort-Meyer’s mind. He was in for a shock: Katia only had about a week of informal training. He opened his mouth just slightly, making a small noise as he took a breath. “Verax’s…restructuring was not a decision I was…amenable to. Becoming a power-seeking military corporation…well, it didn’t sound right. So I stayed in the shadows, wondering if they could redeem themselves. Then Basra happened. A few years after that, London. Then, recently, that problem with Martin Odum. What I hear indicates it was the…straw that broke the camel’s back?” Katia nodded, indicating that was the correct saying.

“Everything’s breaking apart because of it. His brother declared war, and I hear on the grapevine that forces are mobilizing on both sides of the Pond in a new form of guerrilla warfare.”

“I still have ultimate command over Verax’s forces. Nothing Jason Shaw did happened without my say-so. I say ‘keep our secrets’, he silences the men he needs to to do that. His forces are mobilized with my authorization, and I have not given authorization yet. They’re chomping at the bit.”

“All you have to do is say yes,” Katia said carefully. “Then it’s all out war. David and Goliath.” Dr. Ort-Meyer nodded. “Why are you bothering to tell me all of this?”

“You are Quatre-vingt-dix, correct?”

“I am,” she said carefully, still not used to being referred to as such. She leaned back on her heels, folding her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes at him. “What significance is that little fact?”

“You are one of our own. 47 most assuredly told you. You’re an Agent. Just like him. But better.”

“Oh, he said that. Or something like it.”

Dr. Ort-Meyer beamed. “You see?”

She held up a hand to stop him from going off on whatever diatribe he’d had planned to talk her into a series of confusing circles. “What does my being Quatre-vingt-dix have to do with why you’re volunteering this information simply on the basis that I asked?”

“Only that I…thought you’d have figured it out by now.” Katia found herself watching his hands; he did a fair amount of talking with them, especially in his pauses as he tried to find the right word, or the right word in English.

“Figured what out?”

“I am here not just for Mr. Odum, to resolve our little…dispute, but also because I’ve been…curious about you. I wanted to see how you turned out, since Dr. Litvenko insisted on you being his daughter.”

Katia watched him, a blend of emotions swirling around on her. “You won’t find Martin Odum here,” she said. “If you want to talk to me about my father, reach me somewhere public. Otherwise, don’t speak to me ever again.”


	79. 2015: Martin Odum Sees A Mansion For The Second Time

47 sighed, checking the clock on his burner phone for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. When he looked up again he spotted Katia walking out of the back door of the apartment complex. “Let me guess,” she said bitingly. “That took me too long.”

“I thought he killed you, Katia,” he said, with a sort of soft gentleness she still noticed, and figured she would notice for the rest of her life. She met his soft blue eyes, and couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You do care,” she said quietly. He said nothing in response. “I’m about as easy to kill as you are.” She smiled a little, allowing herself a little smugness.

“No, you’re not. You’re too trusting. You’re naïve. John was going to use you and dispose of you, yet you believed his lies.”

“And you wanted me dead, too, yet here we are.”

“You’re here because you relied on your instincts, your memories, and not your foolish desire for someone, anyone, to float around in your life.”

“You clearly don’t know what emotional needs are,” she remarked, giving him a look reminiscent of that which she gave him when he told her to “try not to take this apart”, referring to a pocketknife. 47 looked at her.

“Don’t tell me what I know and don’t know,” he said, an edge in his voice as well as a rare hint of something a lot gentler. It was a strange mix to be sure, but Katia accepted it. She dropped the subject and looked out the window.

“He was very candid,” she said. “He told me about my father, and what he did after the Program fell apart. The company that became Verax was his brainchild, according to him, and he still has final say-so over all of their operations.”

“What do you think?”

“As in, is he honest? I think so, but I sense some kind of motive.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, but it is useful nonetheless.”

“You want to know what I think we should do.” He simply watched. “I told him point blank that if he wants to talk about Litvenko, he can find me somewhere public. Otherwise, I want nothing to do with him.”

“And what of his cohorts?”

Katia shook her head a little. “I want as little to do with that man as possible,” she said harshly.

“So be blunt,” 47 replied simply. Katia looked at him, surprised he offered such sound advice. “The sooner you say what you need to say, the faster it’s over.”

She watched him for a long moment, more to memorize this than anything else, and then nodded. She leaned against his shoulder, and he froze, so, after a moment, Katia straightened again. “Where are the others?”

“I took them somewhere safe,” he said as he shifted the car into gear and eased out onto the street. She looked over her shoulder, spotting the three cars easing onto the street behind them.

“Are they following us?”

“I don’t know, are they?”

Katia sighed, but closed her eyes and took a deep breath, listening. “No,” she said after a moment, opening her eyes. “They’re not following us. This time. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Good.” But, to be on the safe side, 47 made a sudden right turn.

***

Martin got out of the van last, behind Shaw, Phil, Powell, Victor, and Ian, and looked around at the mansion and the grounds. “What’s this place?” he asked.

“On paper it’s my country house,” Ian explained as he walked toward the front door. “I’ve only been here twice.” He laughed slightly and paused to unlock the door. “It’s not that nobody knows about this place, it’s that nobody expects this to be a criminal safe house. That’s its power.” He popped the door open and turned, giving a grand sweeping gesture to the foyer and inviting them all inside. Phil seemed just as star struck as Martin as he looked at everything he possibly could, but Powell and Victor almost seamlessly found their way to the kitchen. _Some things never change_ , Martin thought with a smile.

For a moment he’d gone back about twenty years, seeing the house for the first time. Back then Ian’s crew included Shaw, Powell, and Victor was the rookie at the time. It didn’t take either of those men long to find the kitchen and see if it was stocked with anything useful: pizza and wings were on the menu, if he recalled correctly. It was a respite from a very big job that almost went very south and got them all arrested. Martin went along because…he couldn’t remember if he was the only man among them without a record or with enough of a cover to get them out safely or hell, if he was the only sober one that night.

He smiled at the memory and looked at the place with fresh eyes, his hands resting on his hips. “I remember now,” he said softly, looking at Ian. “This place, at least.”

Ian laughed a little and clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll be safe here,” he promised, lowering his voice and looking Martin in the eye. “Let me know if you want to talk about anything, anything you remember or anything you’re concerned about.”

Martin nodded, and the two of them walked deeper into the room. Ian closed the door behind them. “We should probably settle in for the night, or however long we’re going to be here.”

“We’re here until it’s determined we can move out, which happens when we have something we can use,” Shaw said, wiping his hands on a dishtowel as he walked back into the foyer. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep her safe.”

“Besides which I doubt her brother would let anything happen to her to begin with,” Ian added. “Now c’mon, let’s eat something and see if we can get some rest.”


	80. 2015: Katia Sees A Mansion For The First Time

“That’s Shaw,” Katia said, just as 47’s phone buzzed. He glanced at her, and then picked up the phone and slid to read the message. It was an address, and he looked at it just long enough to read it before setting the phone down near the gearshift. “Take it we have a place to go now.”

“We do,” 47 said simply, making a left turn.

Katia leaned back against the seat and looked out the window, chewing her lip a little. “Will this one end?” she asked after a moment, looking back at him.

“With Verax? Perhaps. But Ort-Meyer and his friends have to be dead.”

“And if Martin Odum doesn’t like what he finds, or crosses paths with some old spy with a grudge?”

“You’ve been reading too many spy novels, Katia.”

She smirked. “That sounds like a bunch of tripe,” she said. “Is that a line they teach you to feed people who ask too many questions?”

“Yes.”

Her smirk fell, and she watched him. “Oh. Well, then.”

“I didn’t say your concern wasn’t valid, but it isn’t something we should worry about right now.”

“And what should we be worrying about? Ort-Meyer? His colleagues? The Agent Program?” _The storage unit in Kiev?_

“Yes, yes, and yes. And yes.” She looked at him, surprised. “I never told you not to think about it, I only ask that you stay focused and do what you’re here to do, what you’re born to do.”

“I thought I was free,” she replied with a small, wry smile.

“That doesn’t change the way your father made you.” He made another turn, and Katia noticed that they were headed north out of the city.

“You’re right,” she said. “But this isn’t how I want to live my life.”

“On the run?”

“Killing people for a living. During a fight like this, I get it, but…” She shook her head. “Not my whole life.”

He barely glanced at her. “Fair enough,” he simply said. “You want things to be normal, I get that.”

“You just don’t think it’s possible. For people like us.” She looked at him as she spoke. He glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze to the road.

“We were all made for a specific purpose.”

“The Cold War.” He glanced at her again. “Ort-Meyer told me.”

“It was bigger than that. The Cold War was a very uncertain time. Spies were all over, and people waited on the edge of their seats for when it would turn hot. Ort-Meyer planned to sell us to the highest bidder the second the war turned hot. I saw representatives from both governments, as well as all satellite states trying to protect themselves from the inevitable fallout. We were supposed to prevent everything from falling to nuclear war. He sold us as a last-ditch effort to save the planet; whether the resulting world was Communist or capitalist depended on who the highest bidder was.”

Katia slumped against the seat again. “Pull over,” she said softly after a moment. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

47 eased the car onto the side of a country road, into the dirt, and Katia pushed the door open and stumbled out and around the front bumper. He got out of the car a few moments later and walked over to stand next to her. He looked at her, studied her profile, and almost wanted to lay a hand on her shoulder, but it was as if he had no idea how, or if such touch would be welcome. “Litvenko created the Agents,” he said softly. “Ort-Meyer was more of a business mind.”

“Basic and applied sciences,” she said after a moment. He said nothing. She stared out over the countryside, her arms folded across her chest. “Do you think it would’ve worked? Ort-Meyer’s plan?”

“If we could fight back, it would’ve almost certainly failed.”

“But could you? Fight back?”

“No,” he said after a moment, shaking his head a little. “That was the problem. We were good little soldiers. I think that’s what finally got to your father. He wanted to see if it could be done, but he wasn’t expecting…”

“Ort-Meyer to be a cunning manipulative greedy fuckface?” she asked, smirking. She seemed a little lighter, voicing her real thoughts on him. 47’s expression lightened a little, as well, and she suspected he felt the same way but for a lot of reasons she didn’t really want to think about, couldn’t voice it.

“Katia, you are free,” he said after a moment, shaking his head a little. “I never said anything about myself, or the other Agents.”

“Your brothers? You’re wrong. You should be just as free as I am. All of you.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and said, “We should get going. We can reach the safe house by nightfall.” Katia nodded, and watched him climb back behind the wheel. She walked around the front and climbed back in next to him as he pulled back onto the road. “What do you want?” he asked after a moment. “For your life. What do you want?”

“I…I don’t know,” Katia said, shrugging. “Maybe an apartment, steady place to live…I wanted my father to be part of it, or rather I would’ve liked it.” She shrugged again. “Maybe I’ll find a job, fall in love…”

He looked at her. “Absolutely not.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re going to be my sister then there isn’t a man alive who would get close enough to go out with you. I wouldn’t let them.”

She stared at him for several long moments. “I…I’ve never had a big brother before. I…think it’s nice.”

He glanced at her briefly, then looked back at the road. “I haven’t had a little sister, either, but I know one thing: siblings look out for each other.”

She smiled. “I’m sure you won’t be as harsh as you’re saying.”

“Oh no. They’ll just have to pass a rigorous physical and psychological examination and take a few firearms classes, to start with.” Katia smirked a little, and looked out over the road for a moment before returning her gaze to 47’s profile.

“I suppose it’s good you haven’t met the Dmitry legend yet. I’m sure you wouldn’t approve,” she said with a slight laugh.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t.” Katia laughed a little, and scanned the countryside.

“We’re almost there.” He glanced at her, and then at the country house in the distance. “It looks lovely,” she remarked. “Out of the way, plenty of exit and entry points but it looks like nobody’s been to this place in years. The road isn’t well maintained—” her point was punctuated by a pothole “—and the gardens don’t seem very well maintained, either. It looks like they might clean it up every once in a while, if at all, possibly to prepare for guests.”

“So your verdict is it’s safe?” 47 asked as he looked for the drive.

“Yes,” she said, looking at him. “It’s safe. Don’t worry, bruv.” She chuckled a little and he turned onto the first stretch of a long dusty drive. He stopped at the gate, and Katia leaned out to punch in the access code. The gates opened in front of them and 47 eased them through. She looked at the untamed hedges and formerly shaped shrubs as they drove past them. She spotted a garden full of wild roses and weeds and overgrown petunias and tulips and lavender flowers. It was all very colorful this time of year, and had its own wild beauty to it, even if it wasn’t classical.

47 pulled into the rounded parkway and parked behind a large black SUV. He got out first, and she stepped out slowly, letting the seatbelt slide back into place and taking a deep breath of the fresh, crisp, finely scented air as her eyes roamed over everything from the fountain to the border hedges. It was all in the long shadow of an elegant three-story Edwardian structure painted what was once a lovely shade of purple. When she turned and looked at it, it didn’t seem as daunting as she normally would have expected. Perhaps that was because nobody lived there normally. She stepped between the cars and walked up the steps.


	81. 2007: Jackie Witnesses An Attempted Murder

Jackie sighed, leaning against the car where Shaw, Phil, Damian, and Riley waited, and scanned the street traffic. After checking the clock on her phone, she rapped twice on the window of the passenger door. Seconds later Damian and Shaw emerged and started moving toward the park behind them while Jackie kept watch. Her eyes went to a black car that looked like a heavy Sedan; it was the same car that had tailed them the previous day. It eased onto the curb behind their car, and Jackie’s eyes went to the driver, the same bald man with sunglasses. She turned and squatted so she could see Riley, and gestured for him to roll down the window. He did. “You need to move,” she said softly. He nodded and rolled up the window again, and she waited until she saw him pop open the far door before turning around again.

By then, the man climbed out of the car and walked over, standing a few feet away with one hand in his pocket. “You’re early,” she remarked with a light smirk.

“Punctuality is the key to happiness,” the man replied. “Or it was when I was growing up.”

“Military household?”

“Something like that.”

Jackie nodded, smirking a little, and stepped away from the car a bit. She took a deep breath. “Octagon creates humans, and trains them to serve as soldiers. I don’t know why, but you know what, I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care about what their reasons or motivations or any of that are. I’m going to get those clones out. You seem diametrically opposed to that. Why?”

“I personally am not opposed,” he explained. “But I have a job to do.”

Jackie nodded. “I presume you’ll have to kill us now. I’d offer to take you out of Europe somewhere, give you a new identity. I know a man who can arrange all that for you. But I have a feeling you won’t take it. I don’t know why, I won’t speculate, but call it a woman’s intuition.”

“You thought about going to the trouble for me, which is more than someone’s done for me in a long time. I suppose I should thank you.”

“What would that do for the impact of you trying to kill me?” she asked, smirking.

“Good point.”

Jackie closed her eyes, taking another breath. “I care about those clones because they’re my cousin’s partner’s brothers. One of their own is like family to me, so by extension they’re all family. They can’t all live at the same place without it being weird, but then a lot of extended living arrangements are kind of weird. You want them where they are because of Octagon’s alliance with Verax. You’re concerned about the company you work for losing money. I get that. But you don’t really believe in their causes on principle, do you?”

The man said nothing, and that was enough of an answer for Jackie. She just nodded, looking away from him for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “To us. What are you going to do? I’d rather like to know how I’m going to die.”

For once, the man smirked a little. “You sound British.”

“I spent half my life in London. I kind of speak that way sometimes.”

He went back to his expressionless mask. “To answer your question: I was told to make it look like a mob hit. One of your cousin’s rivals.” Jackie nodded slowly, easily seeing how the general public would believe a story like that, except for one thing. “Ian doesn’t have rivals, at least ones that are currently active.”

The man paused, considering her words and the obvious hole in the story Verax had provided him with as the basis for his hit. “Does he have any enemies to speak of?” One name popped in Jackie’s head at once, but she refused to utter it. He nodded. “I see.”

“Look, Ian’s trouble or lack thereof is no business of yours or Verax’s,” Jackie said, shaking her head. “Ian may not have any long term rivals, but I’m sure some upstart could be reasonably blamed. I mean, if you’re looking for someone to blame.” _If you don’t have someone in mind already_ , she thought, knowing full well that if Verax knew even the basics about Ian, they probably had someone in mind already to take the fall for this attack.

The man watched her for several moments, a long and unnerving silence that left Jackie wondering what she should do next before she realized it was a ploy to get her to speak first. This man was trained in many things, and it seemed one of them included controlling the conversation. Suddenly Jackie felt the need to wrest control from him, so she held her tongue just as staunchly as he was. Finally the man broke. “He will believe what he wants to believe, and as a result everyone else will believe the same. He has…ways of that. Shaping belief.”

“Oh really. Well, let’s see about that.” The man nodded and moved to the car, and Jackie took a step to the side, sliding her hand in her pocket and typing a quick text to Ian to get in touch with some of his old lawyer friends and prepare for one hell of a legal fight. She watched the man place the bomb, chewing her lip a little, and glanced at Riley, who was watching on, dumbfounded. Jackie looked at the man as he straightened after several moments fiddling around. He turned to her and nodded simply before getting back in his car and driving off.

“How could you let him do that?!” Riley demanded.

“We need to go,” Jackie said, listening to the beeping sounds get faster and faster. She bolted toward him, shoving him in front of her as they took off for the park. Too little or not, it was certainly too late. The bomb detonated, blowing the car to pieces that went in all different directions. The shockwave knocked them off their feet, but a piece of debris from the car struck Riley in the lower back, knocking him unconscious.


	82. 2007: A Visit To The Hospital

Abigail leaned against the frame of the door to Riley’s hospital room, where he lay, unconscious but stable, with a steady, strong heartbeat and even, regular breathing. Jackie was perched in a plastic chair at his bedside, her knees curled up to her chest. She didn’t look at Abigail. “You too?” she asked softly. Abigail walked into the room and stood next to the chair.

“He’s going to wake up soon, they said,” Jackie continued. “But he’s got two pinched nerves. He’ll probably limp—and be in pain—the rest of his life.”

Abigail nodded and bowed her head, closing her eyes. She took a deep, heavy breath and opened her eyes again. “Have you seen Ben?” she asked. Jackie shook her head vaguely. Abi simply nodded, and looked over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps behind her. Jackie didn’t move.

“How is he?” Ben asked softly from the doorway. Abigail turned toward him and marched over, slapping him across the face in a sharp sound that echoed across the room in discordance with the general quiet atmosphere of waiting. But still, it seemed not to stir Jackie at all.

“How dare you?” she hissed. “You run off doing God knows what and Riley’s risking his life to help a man you seem to have cut all ties with.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He said you were his best friend,” Jackie said, her voice rasping as she stood. She hadn’t turned to face them yet, but she got both their attention. Abigail turned halfway to look at her. “You need to start acting like it,” Jackie continued, and with that she turned and walked out of the room, avoiding the gazes of the couple. Abigail turned and walked back to Riley’s bedside, and Ben continued to hover near the doorframe.

Jackie went a ways down the hall and fished out her phone, dialing a number almost without looking. For a moment she expected to hear Phil’s voice, but was pleasantly surprised when she heard Ian’s. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Jackie said softly.

“Hey, Jackie. Are…are you alright?” Ian asked. She got the impression he was leaning forward, his arms perhaps resting on a table.

“It’s Riley. S-something happened here in London. He’s fine but…he got hurt. Hit by…like…a car door or something…he’ll limp for the rest of his life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What about you, are you alright?”

Jackie closed her eyes. “I’m scared,” she admitted with a shaky voice.

“That’s OK. Of course you’ll shit yourself staring down the barrel of a musket.” Jackie smiled at the familiar phrase. “No shame in that. The shame is in turning around and running afterwards.”

“Martha Wade,” Jackie finished for him, looking up and at a wall, still smiling. Her smile faded a little. “Do you think this is it? Do you think this is war?”

“I think this is the potential start of hostilities, something like how Red October is considered the start of the Cold War by some.” Jackie nodded. “Where are you now?”

“In a hallway in the hospital, outside Riley’s room. Abigail and Ben are…are in there now.” She swallowed thickly. “Ben’s been kind of absent lately. He and Abi are kind of…on rocky ground right now, I think they have been for some time.” She shook her head. “This isn’t going to go well.” She looked over her shoulder at the room, where Ben and Abigail had somehow already gotten themselves into an argument. “And there it goes,” she continued, looking away again with a heavy sigh. “Right down the toilet.”

“Phil’s over there. Should I send him to pick you up?”

“I don’t want to leave Riley,” she said suddenly, with more urgency than she thought she could possess right then. “You…you can’t fly over yet, can you?”

“No, I’m…afraid not.”

“It’s…good to hear your voice, though.”

“I’m glad. I’ll stay on as long as you need me to.”

“Thanks, Ian.” She walked over to a chair and eased herself down. Again she glanced at Riley’s room, where the sounds of Ben and Abigail’s argument were starting to drift into the hallway, following them. “Do they always fight this badly?”

“I heard stories, when one of the FBI agents would visit me in prison. He heard second or third hand about Ben and Abi’s fights; apparently Agent Sadusky kept getting involved, which I hear he prefers over whatever director position he’s been offered lately. I gather they had a brief separation, but I thought everything had been resolved.”

“Looks like it’s falling apart again.”

“I see.”

“I think they’ll leave. I’ll see if I can stay and keep watch over Riley. You can tell Phil if he wants to see me where to find me.”

“OK. I’m still here if you need anything.”

“OK.” Jackie nodded, and she hung up and stood carefully, walking back to Riley’s room.


	83. 2015: Katia Van Dees Finds Time To Drift

Katia leaned against the window frame, staring out of a half-open window over the grounds. 47 was watching her from the sofa in the room. After a moment she tilted her head slightly toward him. “Do you think this will work?” she asked.

He continued to watch her. “Do you?” he asked.

“I actually don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Don’t you see it?”

“That’s the trouble. I can find half a dozen ways for this to turn into a shitshow.” She looked at him as she spoke. “I can find half a dozen more for us to both end up dead, or perhaps recaptured and…” she broke off, and what she left unsaid hung in the air between them. ‘ _Repurposed_ ’ was the word she was after.

“Find one way to make it work,” he simply said.

For a moment Katia paused, watching him, and then she said, “23.” His eyebrow twitched, indicating he was curious about where she was going with this. “Position him in a sniper nest; at the meeting place I can find the most ideal, and he can be there, keeping watch and taking aim. Dr. Ort-Whatever makes a move we don’t like? 23 blasts his fucking head off.”

47 considered her for a moment, and then nodded. “Not bad,” he said. Katia let herself smile faintly. “And John?”

“You and John need to stay close, but hide. He’s good at that, blending in. The average person wouldn’t suspect him of any potential wrongdoing. You…stand out a bit but in the right setting you could look like any other businessman.”

He paused. “A park, near the business district, it’s lunch hour, the two of you sitting on a bench or walking down a path would look like any other grandfather/granddaughter pair. People might even mistake you for dutiful.”

“Exactly,” Katia said with a smile and a gesture toward him indicating he was on point. “Next question: Should I be wired?”

“Yes. Tell me why.”

“So someone in a van can listen in?” She shook her head a little, smirking. “Well, that too, but also to record what he says so he doesn’t turn around later and deny everything point blank. It’s to cover our arses in a world where evidence can be drummed up at any point and used against people like us.” 47 assessed her a moment, watching her with that same quiet impassiveness he watched everything. She sensed he was measuring her, but she also sensed that sort of fondness he seemed to develop for her. After a moment he nodded.

She watched him as he looked back at the table in front of him, where he’d spread out his weapons for inventory. Her eyes went to the table where they rested, scanning over them, assessing them. “You’re running a bit low on ammunition,” she remarked. “Only one knife, two pistols, your assault rifle. You’ll need bullets for the rifle.” He looked at her again, and she gave him a small smile. His eyebrows relaxed, giving his face something of a softer and brighter look, at least around the eyes.

“I’ll have to make it last in case of a fire fight,” he said, and her smile broadened a little and she shook her head a little, looking back to the window a little.

“You can do it,” she said, looking at him. “I know you can. After all you’re the best in your field. Not even that upstart can beat you.” She started to snicker a little, and she heard John shoot to his feet another room, ready to shout at them, but he didn’t, presumably because Shaw was there to stop him.

47 watched her with what she could almost take to be a faint smile. “I know,” he simply said, and looked back at his weapons. Katia took a deep breath, and pulled herself to her feet, padding gently behind the sofa where he sat and making her way to the room where Martin was staying. She tapped gently on the door, and heard him stir.

“May I come in?” she asked gently.

“Of course,” Martin replied, opening the door. She stepped inside gently, and he closed the door behind them.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, looking at him.

“Better,” he said, nodding a little. “You?”

“About the same. Unsettled by the good doctor who worked with my father but…drawn to him at the same time. Otherwise holding on alright.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Without looking at him, she took a breath. “Tomorrow I’m going to meet him. I’ll have my brother set it all up, but…while I’m there, I’ll need information. I need to know what resources he has at his disposal, who all his contacts are. I need to make sure he won’t lie to me, especially about the identity of his coworkers.”

“Do you think this’ll work?”

“It has to,” she said, turning to face him, her arms folded across her chest. “If it doesn’t I…don’t know how else we can stop Verax, for good.”

“This man Riley seems to have access to…all the information we need.”

“Good. Guard him with your life.”


	84. 2015: The Brutal Death Of A Doctor

23 settled in, adjusting himself a little as his red eye stared down the scope of his sniper rifle. He was set up across the street and several dozen stories up from a park in the middle of the City of London. Katia was settled on a bench in his sights, as per the plan, and at the edge of the scope he spotted 47 taking what looked like a leisurely stroll.

In his ear was a direct line to the other end of this operation, a man named Ian Howe. “When’re you gonna signal Riley?” he couldn’t help but ask, in a casual tone.

“We need the names from Katia first,” Ian replied.

“You confirm those, you get to leak everything, right?”

“Something like that,” Ian said with a light laugh. “You have eyes?”

“Much as I don’t want it to that pretty little head of my sister’s has religion.”

“Good. Remember who you’re really after, and don’t shoot unless absolutely necessary.”

“Roger,” 23 said, shifting his position a little, and stared down the scope at the back of Katia’s head. “You’re safe,” he whispered, a message he hoped to carry to her on the wind.

***

Katia glanced over her shoulder at the building with the space for rent on the thirtieth floor, with the open window where she could swear she saw a sniper rifle belonging to the man who currently had her six. He was one of her brothers, and the idea that it wasn’t just 47 looking out for her soothed her a little, even if the sight of him physically was a little weird.

Her eyes went to the path at a sound that attracted her attention, and she watched the doctor in a worn old suit jacket and sweater vest approach her. She nodded to him, but pointedly refused to stand, and he nodded back to her and turned to ease himself onto the bench with a heavy grunt. After a moment, she looked at him. “Lovely day,” she said, looking back out over the park.

“Indeed it is,” Dr. Ort-Meyer remarked. “I was told you wish to speak more about your father?”

“You must’ve heard wrong, or my liaison miscommunicated. I’m not terribly interested in what you have to say about my father, at least, not right now. I want to know more about your work with Verax. I want to know about your colleagues specifically.”

“Why would I tell you about them?”

“I want to know, and I thought you’d tell me if I asked.”

“What gave you that idea?”

Katia shrugged. “Oh, just that you worked with my father, with whom I remember being very close, the fact that you refer to me as Quatre-vingt-dix with what sounds like affection, or maybe that’s just a ruse and I’m hearing things.” She shook her head a little, nonchalantly, and scanned the park, a smattering of people with dogs or jogging or walking or any number of other activities people do in parks.

Ort-Meyer laughed a cold, dry, wry laugh. “Oh you think you’re something special, don’t you, just because Litvenko loved you.” He smirked, and shook his head. “This is what we get for making a clone with capacity for emotion. They get stupid.”

Katia looked at him pointedly for a brief moment before looking at the crowds again. “Surely you respected his judgment at some point. Perhaps you were even friends. If that doesn’t count for anything than you really are a cold bastard.” The doctor said nothing. “I don’t have a lot of time or limitless patience like my brothers,” she said. “Just tell me what I need to know. There’s a sniper trained right on your head as we speak. He won’t fire if you cooperate, but if you don’t, well…I can’t make any promises for your safety.”

The doctor looked at her after a moment, trying to appear unfazed by her threats. “Good luck with that,” he said simply, softly, and he stood and started walking.

All at once a shot rang out. Katia couldn’t help but jump. A bullet tore through Dr. Ort-Meyer’s head, spraying blood and brain matter and bits of bone everywhere. There was a cavity, a ditch, where there used to be the top of his head. Onlookers started to scream and run, and Katia knew she should run too, but she couldn’t. Something about the scene held her transfixed, and she wasn’t sure if her own sudden lack of fear, her certainty that 23 wouldn’t hurt her, the sheer gore and shock of the scene, the suddenness, or any combination of those.

“Katia. Katia,” she heard Ian’s voice in her ear, the second time louder than the first. She started a little and hummed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I…”

Something in her took over, and in the chaos she stood from the bench and moved quietly to the body, pulling his phone and wallet from his pockets and falling in with a crowd being evacuated from the park. In the crowd she spotted 47, and made her way over to him, passing him the phone and wallet. He glanced at her, and nodded, pocketing the items.

“That was an impressive shot,” 47 said as they started down the street.

“In more ways than one,” Katia added.


	85. 2015: Martin Odum Devises A Plan

“OK so…this is what I could pull off the phone,” Riley said over the video call as he tapped a few keys on his laptop, manipulating Ian’s laptop and calling it to pull up a list of contacts. “These numbers,” he added, highlighting four of them, “are the ones he reaches most frequently, and for the longest amounts of time. They belong to, in order, Johnson Naidoo, a South Africa native and former commander of a private military force, makes sense; Yuri Mikhailov, a former KGB operative and possibly a friend of Ort-Meyer’s former colleague; Sheldon Blake, a one time Senatorial candidate from South Dakota with big dreams for the US Army, some would argue a police state; and Andrew Lereaux, of French Canadian descent and a convicted arms dealer.”

“Quite the collection of associates,” Ian commented.

“Sounds just right for the minds behind Verax,” Katia added, and she could feel some of the group looking at her.

“My thoughts exactly,” Riley added, tapping a few more keys and pulling up another list on Ian’s screen. “These are the retrievable text messages, patches covering a span of about five years, around the time of Operation Raining Fire.” Here Martin leaned forward, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Riley continued as if he already understood what Martin wanted to know. “They had a lot to say about how Verax was currently being run, from the money theft to the WMD. Yeah. They knew about those. They thought Raining Fire was a quote ‘blessing from Heaven’ as Mr. Mikhailov put it, as it ‘put an end to all that nonsense’.” He made his point with air quotes and lifted his eyes to his web camera.

“But they didn’t call that air strike,” Martin said. “I did.”

Riley shook his head in agreement and said, “Either way they’re glad it happened. I believe Mr. Blake said that if you hadn’t called that strike he would’ve called it himself and had that entire compound blown up. If it were up to him there wouldn’t have been any survivors.

“As it was it was still a rough blow to a friendly base,” Ian said.

“They disagreed with Jason Shaw,” Katia said wistfully, as if lost in thought. “They might have privately endorsed John Cameron at one point. John Cameron was…you, correct?” she asked, turning to Martin. He hesitated, and then nodded, confused about where she was going with this. She nodded again.

“Katia,” 47 said, and she looked up at him, somewhat surprised. He seemed to suddenly appear beside her, and she wondered if she’d been too lost in thought to function. She led him to the side of the room and lowered her voice.

“What, 47?” she asked, more sharply than she anticipated.

“What happened back there?” he simply asked.

“I froze,” she said bluntly, making a point with him. “23 blasted half of Ort-Meyer’s head off and I couldn’t help but stare.”

“That’s natural,” he said. “But you will need to get used to the nature of death. In our business it is often gory.”

“Our business?” Katia demanded, her voice lifting in a sound reminiscent of a shriek. She could feel a couple members of Ian’s crew looking at them, so she waited until they stopped before continuing. “What…business? Your mission? Or what you and your brothers do?”

47 watched her impassively, and she just nodded. “I told you I’m not going to do this for the rest of my life. I’m going to do…something else,” she said.

“That’s good,” he said simply. “Remember you have that choice. But for right now—”

“Right now we’re fighting a war,” she said bluntly. He nodded, and she nodded back before they returned to the table.

“Sibling spat?” Shaw asked, cocking an eyebrow and threatening to smirk a little but holding it back.

“More of a discussion,” Katia remarked simply, taking a seat. “He had some idea about picking off these targets one by one, but I disagreed.” 47 sat next to her in silent agreement with her story. “The most effective way, I think, to send the message we need to is get them all together, or let them come together on their own, to discuss what to do with the doctor’s death. After all this was his brainchild, and they must begin to suspect the truth by now, I’m sure. They’ll want to regroup, figure out what to do next, or maybe launch an offensive because they must know they’re being attacked.”

Shaw nodded. “Makes sense,” he said, glancing around a little.

Ian leaned forward, the gears of his mind turning as he folded his arms on the table and leaned on his elbows. “Where will they meet?” he asked.

Katia watched a moment, and glanced at 47 before looking at the crowd again. “Provide me a list of Verax safe houses,” she said to Riley. “Please?”

“Uh…OK,” he said, and he resumed typing on his laptop, staring intently at the screen. “Let me guess, you need that cross-referenced with where the four people of interest like to frequent?”

“I do. Find a match between the four of them, we’ll check it out.”

“No,” Martin said suddenly, and everyone looked at him. “That won’t be necessary,” he continued. He leaned back in his chair, watching them all as he adjusted himself to get more comfortable. “Verax could have millions of safe houses, and there’s no chance of searching them all in time. They will meet quickly and prepare for immediate action. They’ll need somewhere they can inventory all available weapons and prepare the forces for battle.”

“You know where that is,” Katia said, looking at him.

“Los Angeles,” Martin replied. “They have warehouses in Los Angeles full of weapons, crates of them. Nobody questions it, of course, because it’s Verax, and their hold is so tight now that no one questions them anymore.”

“If they do they disappear,” Katia supplied, and Martin nodded slowly.

“This sounds like fun,” Riley remarked, cocking an eyebrow. “So what’re you suggesting we do?”

“Don’t ask me how I know this because I don’t remember very well. There’s a place in Los Angeles they held me captive. I didn’t know then but they took me there earlier, or I’m pretty sure they did. The crates were still there, part of me recognized them, but I couldn’t place it and didn’t have the time.”

“Can you find this place again?” Katia asked. Martin nodded, and Katia nodded back and looked at 47. “What do you think?”

“If it gets us these men, do it,” 47 said to her. He looked at Martin. “Say what you need to say, do what you need to do. If they meet there, we need to know about it, and we need access.”

“Then in that case he needs back up.” Everyone looked up at the speaker, 47’s red-eyed older brother 23, as he leaned against the doorframe to the dining room and folded his arms across his chest. “I even know how Mr. Cameron is getting in.”


	86. 2015: John Cameron Returns To Verax

“This is an outrage!” Johnson Naidoo shouted, slamming his palm on the table as he shot to his feet. The other men at the table flinched, as his voice echoed in the walls of the warehouse and made him seem louder, if that were possible. “An attack like this _cannot_ be allowed to stand!”

“And it won’t,” Andrew Lereaux replied calmly, settled back in his chair with his legs crossed and his hands laced on his knee. “We could sacrifice Mr. Shaw and set someone else up in his place, you know that. But the attack on the doctor means someone is intentionally attacking the entire organization. Naturally we won’t allow that. Our survival depends on it.”

“But question still stands,” Yuri Mikhailov said, gesturing to the table in a someone small way before clasping his hands in front of him again. “Who is responsible? We must have target.”

“And you will, said a voice at the edge of the room near the doorway. All four men turned and looked at him, a tall bald man dressed in black and wearing sunglasses. He leaned against the frame of what used to be a door, before it had been torn out and replaced with an easily movable piece of plywood.

“What’ve you got?” Andrew asked, shifting a little in his chair and looking at the man.

“John Cameron,” the spy replied, stepping aside and letting the famed Verax sniper pass. John rubbed his mouth slightly and looked at them all.

“So, this is the…this is the inner circle,” he said, shifting a little on his feet. “I…” He let out a nervous laugh. “I thought it…it ended with Jason Shaw. Oh how he wanted power,” he finished darkly, shaking his head a little. “Liked to be called sir, too. For a while I thought he had some kind of…some kind of fetish.” He stopped awkwardly, realizing the men were watching him with puzzled expressions. He cleared his throat and apologized meekly.

“Jason Shaw is not problem anymore,” Yury said bluntly, watching John calmly, gauging him. “We have other matters to attend to.”

“Oh?”

Andrew nodded. “Someone killed Dr. Ort-Meyer.” John nodded, returning his hand to his face as he weighed this. “Do you…remember the doctor, Mr. Cameron?”

“Actually I…I don’t remember much of anything. Basra really…really…”

“We understand,” Yuri said soothingly, holding out his hands.

“In fact,” said Sheldon who had been silent up to that point as he leaned forward and folded his hands in front of him on the table, “we are willing to forgive you your for Basra and Raining Fire, even for your espionage, if you forgive us for framing you for Director Spiller’s death.”

“Um, yeah…” John replied, rubbing the back of his head. “Can you…can you make that go away?”

“You won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Sheldon promised, shaking his head a little for emphasis.

“There’s a catch, isn’t there.”

“No catch,” Yuri replied. “We are not Jason Shaw. Our agendas are different. We do not ask much of you.”

“W-well surely you must want something.”

“Yes,” Andrew said. “As I said, someone killed the doctor. Very publicly, I might add.”

“You want the assassin found and killed,” John deduced.

“That’s exactly what we want.”

“So…what are the…the arrangements? What’s the deal? I care the sniper and…” he shrugged, “well, then what?”

“Then you go back to normal life,” Yuri said with a small shrug. “Retire, have apartment, start family, whatever you want. You be at peace.”

“No more…no more special missions? I’ll be left alone?”

“You’ll be left alone,” Andrew promised, leaning forward and keeping his gaze calm for John’s benefit.

John watched them, rubbing his mouth softly one more time. “Alright, if you keep your word I’ll keep mine. How do I find this sniper?”


	87. 2015: The Calm Before The Storm

“This is working,” Riley said as he stared at his computer screen. Jackie watched him carefully, and Ben and Abigail stood across the room, he with his hand on his face, elbow wresting on his wrist and her with her arms folded across her chest, worrying her lip. “Our evil plan is working.”

“Don’t go that far,” Jackie said carefully as she watched the screen displaying the tracking device on Martin’s jacket. She chewed her lip a little, as well. _Make it out, Martin,_ she thought. _Please make it out._ She took a deep silent breath to steady her nerves a little.

“So what’s going on, exactly?” Ben asked.

“We’re trying to take down a corrupt paramilitary organization that’s taken over the entire US government,” Riley said flatly, without looking up from his computer.

“They’re specifically targeting my cousin,” Jackie added, also not looking up. Then, after a moment, she looked at him. “We’re almost done,” she said, as if she were trying to reassure him. “The bastards that put you in prison and made him a fugitive won’t be a problem after much longer.”

***

John leaned against the car parked in the lot of the warehouse, one of only two or three, and exhaled as if he’d just taken a long drag off of a cigarette. Katia couldn’t help but look at him then, in a glance noting his dark sunglasses and street clothes, mimicking what he wore when she first met him. “Bored?” she asked, shooting for edge that for whatever reason she couldn’t muster anymore.

“Just…what’re we doing here?” he asked.

“Waiting for Martin,” she replied. “If he gets out safe, that is. If not we have to be the first responders and call in back up, and hope it’s not too late.”

John scoffed. “Why do you care?”

She gave him a steady look then, and straightened, turning to face him. “Maybe because I’m trying to be a decent human being,” she said bluntly, harshly. “Is that so inconceivable to you that people like us can try to be good?”

“Well…yeah,” he said frankly, shrugging a little and straightening as well. “That precious brother of yours kills people for a living.”

“Your point?”

John scoffed again and shook his head, a disbelieving smirk threatening to curl his lips as he looked back at the warehouse. “Wow, you’re…you’re impressive.”

Katia watched him a moment. “And you think you can do better? Of course you do, don’t answer that.”

“Why send him in there? Why not just rig the place to explode? I would have.” He looked at her again, and Katia realized he had a point.

“To be blunt, I would have set up sniper nests, perhaps one over there,” she pointed to a tall building a block away, “and started hunting them down, picking them off one by one. It’s quieter that way, looks less like a bloody lone wolf terror attack.”

He looked at her, that sort of leer still on his lips but his eyebrows folded a little as if he were appraising her. “Not bad,” he said, notes in his voice that suggested he was impressed. “I gotta hand it to you,” he continued as he looked back over the pocket. “When I met you in Berlin I never would’ve pegged you for a hitwoman. I thought I’d have to keep an eye on you pretty much constantly; never thought you’d be able to pull through like this.”

Katia smirked, turning to look back at the warehouse. “I wouldn’t have thought it either,” she said. “But here we are.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “What did you want?” he asked after a brief pause.

“Hmm?”

“What did you want? Why’d you want to find your father? My people wanted to make Agents, 47’s people wanted to keep that from happening, but I couldn’t figure out why you wanted to find him.”

“Are you asking because you can’t kill me?”

John shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” she said tersely. “It does.”

He sighed a little. “No,” he said after a moment. “I’m asking because I can’t figure it out no matter how hard I try.”

“Maybe you’re just not very accustomed to being human.” She looked back at the warehouse, and spotted 47 standing guard at the door as if he had always been there. In a dumpster on the other side of the building, she was sure she would find a dead man who really did belong at that post. So far, there was no sign anything went haywire…yet.


	88. 2015: The Fish Struggle Over The Bait

John Cameron looked around at the room set up for him, his arm dropping his bag to his side. He couldn’t help but stare at the series of monitors playing footage from different angles, but he knew already that the person they were looking for wasn’t on any of them. There were several angles of the crime, so he moved toward these first. He studied each gory clip on repeat and kept himself detached, a skill he figured he must’ve learned in the army. He scrutinized each angle, and after a few moments said, “Looks like a professional.”

“We think the sniper was in a nest on the thirtieth floor of a nearby office building,” Andrew said as he walked into the room with his hands loosely clasped behind his back. John and 23 turned to look at him as he continued toward them. “He used a high caliber round, and we believe he had a custom rifle, or at least a high-end one.”

“Definitely a professional. Only a pro could afford something like that.” John glanced over his shoulder at 23. “What’s your take on this?” he asked.

“…Same as you,” the bald man replied with a shrug. “Professional hit, assassin was careful. He doesn’t appear on camera anywhere and we can’t find a single witness that saw who did this. Even the cops can’t help us.”

“Surely somebody must’ve seen something,” John insisted.

The man shook his head. “A guy like this would’ve thought about that and found a way to hide himself from suspicion.”

“There’s got to be something.”

“Wait,” Andrew said, interrupting them. John turned to see what he was pointing at, a clip from a CCTV monitoring a nearby road. It caught a café near the park where, at the time of the recording, a man was waiting, watching the park and following someone walking away from it.

“Well now,” John said as he drew closer. “Who’s that gentleman?”

***

Riley’s laptop pinged suddenly, almost startling him. He pulled up the notification and scanned it. “They got it,” he said. “They got the bait.”

“Now to see if the fish bites,” Jackie replied, watching the screen intently.

***

Andrew felt his heart sink into his stomach as he stared at the screen. He looked at John Cameron and back again, several times, as if trying to make sense of his own discovery. John simply looked up at him and watched with the innocent, concerned, curious expression often seen in children who suspected that they were in trouble or at the very least something was wrong. 23 stepped toward them, watching Andrew as if he would suddenly become a threat, and when he glanced at John he realized the expression had come naturally to him, more so than most people or was expected for a high level of training.

“You…you can’t be serious,” Andrew stammered. “It can’t be him.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” John couldn’t help but ask.

“N-no,” Andrew said. “It doesn’t make sense. He idolized the doctor. He must be there to find the assassin and kill him himself. That must be it.”

John settled back on his feet, nodding as if weighing this. “I…I don’t remember much,” he said, scratching faintly at his temple, “but didn’t he also covet power, perhaps more so?”

Andrew shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “You really don’t remember.” His tone shifted into a challenge, and he started to circle a little bit. 23 stepped in front of him almost immediately, and John just looked around, trying to find a way out or at least to not get caught in the crossfire in case something came to a head that he wasn’t ready for. Andrew took two slow, careful, menacing steps toward them, and 23’s hand went to his gun at once. John could tell it was all he could do not to just fire right there and end everything.

“Stop!” he said, stepping between them. He could feel that the John Cameron legend was broken, but he wasn’t about to blow his own cover just yet. “Stop,” he said, more softly, holding up his hands to placate them both. “Whatever this tape means, it certainly implies his involvement in the doctor’s murder, so surely somebody should be talking to, or threatening, him?”

***

“What…what is he doing?” Riley asked.

“Stalling?” Jackie offered.

“Or maybe he realized a direct play would compromise the mission and his person,” Ian’s voice replied through the laptop speakers.

“Ian, can you get eyes inside? Everything’s falling apart, I can feel it.”

“Oh, things are falling apart alright,” Riley remarked.

“I can’t risk closing the perimeter now,” Ian said. “Jackie we both know this situation could explode around us at any moment.”

“Well somebody’s gotta do something,” Jackie said. “Martin’s in there.”

***

Andrew looked at John, and the tape footage playing on the monitors, and at John again, sparing a brief glance for 23, as well. Then, he took a deep breath as if to settle his nerves. “You’re right,” he said to John, nodding a little and resting his hands on his hips, pushing his suit jacket out of the way as he did so. “You’re right. This needs to be examined before we jump to conclusions, no matter how suspicious it looks and it certainly looks pretty suspicious.” He finally nodded again. “I’ll talk to the others,” he said, and he walked out of the room, leaving John Cameron and 23 alone, staring after him.

Finally John let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and he turned to 23. “That could’ve been a disaster,” he said.

23 nodded. “Good save,” he replied. “You’re good at thinking on your feet. Mark of a good covert officer, if you ask me.”

John nodded back, thanked him, and looked at the monitors. “What do we do now?” he asked. “It won’t be long before the truth is uncovered, you know that.”

23 nodded. “Ho-oh yeah.”

John sighed, resting his hands on his hips and still staring at the floor for a moment before looking up at him. “Gonna answer my question?”

“Would but your guess is as good as mine,” 23 replied with a shrug. “Look, we just planted a seed. Now we need to move. Which means I have to get your ass out of here, at least according to the plan. I just don’t know how.”

A light bulb went off in Martin’s head, and 23 knew he was talking to the real deal. “I know how,” he said. “Just…just give me a few moments.”

***

Andrew watched the faces of Johnson, Sheldon, and Yuri as he laid out exactly what they had discovered so far about any possible witnesses or leads on the doctor’s assassination. Sensing Johnson’s rage boiling deep beneath the surface he felt the need to keep his tone as cordial and diplomatic as possible, use vaguer language, and preface with many phrases like “we have nothing definitive yet”, and “we don’t want to jump to conclusions right now.”

“I was never there,” Johnson said sharply. “I was in South Africa, visiting my sister.”

“And…” he said, holding up a hand in a placating gesture, “that will be taken fully into consideration.”

“It had better be!” Johnson snapped.

“Gentlemen,” Yuri replied, for perhaps the first time in a long while revealing the threatening KGB-trained demeanor lurking behind his mask of calm and impassivity, of reasonability. “It should be clear assassin is not connected to us. Any suggestion that it is, is fraud.”

Sheldon watched Yuri carefully, leaning forward and looking at him over the rims of his glasses. “We all have our agendas. You may think loyalty exists but I can tell you it doesn’t. I think it’s reasonable to suspect one of us of the doctor’s demise.”

Yuri held up his hands. “Well I know it wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t me, either,” Johnson added, leaning back and also holding up his hands.

“That leaves myself and Sheldon,” Andrew said.

“Unless one of these two is lying,” Sheldon remarked.

Yuri and Johnson looked at him, offended, but Sheldon remained unfazed by their harsh gazes, instead holding Andrew’s eye, gauging to see if he’d accept the possibility. Finally Andrew nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Rest assured this matter will be thoroughly investigated. Sadly that means we have to investigate each other. While I trust you are all in very good standing an attack like this requires that all elements and sides be fully addressed. We simply can’t let anything slip through the cracks.”

Slowly, Yuri looked at Andrew, followed by Johnson. “I think this is fair,” Yuri said.

“I think its bullshit!” Johnson snapped, slamming his palm on the table. “I thought I could trust every one of you!”

“Ensign is even spying on us!” Sheldon snapped. “We are not above reproach!”

“Sheldon is right,” Yuri said. “Ensign watches us like hawk, and while I believe it’s because of Jason Shaw, I cannot fault reasoning.”

“Well I can!” Johnson yelled, shooting to his feet and preparing to launch at Yuri.

***

John Cameron turned to 23. “That looks bad,” he said. “Signal your brother and sister.” He turned back to the doorway looking out to the somewhat distant table where the men conferred. Behind him, he heard 23 speak into a device on his wrist.


	89. 2015: Agents Move In

A movement from 47 caught Katia’s attention, and she nodded to him before turning to John. “Get your ass in gear,” she said to him. “It’s time to move.”

“You mean you don’t want me to…I don’t know, sit here and watch the car?” John remarked sardonically.

“Not at the risk of you running off and doing something incredibly stupid,” Katia retorted, marching toward the warehouse. “Are you coming or what?”

“OK fine,” John said, as he followed her, picking up his pace a little to catch up with her as she continued forward. Katia looked at 47, waiting at the door and leaning against it, holding it open for them. She nodded to him, and John made a point of ignoring 47. 47 simply shook his head a little and followed them into the warehouse, letting the door close behind him. Katia led them seamlessly through the warehouse, listening to the men arguing in a distant room. “Are you sure—” John began, but Katia held up a hand to stop him. He bit his tongue, and Katia narrowed her eyes as she listened to the discussion a little bit, just enough to gauge level of involvement by all parties and see what, exactly, they could get away with.

It sounded like a very intense conversation, which meant they’d gotten the bait, and that was very good. “Alright,” she said quietly. “Martin said this was where they kept weapons. See if we can find any high-powered explosives.” 47 simply nodded and disappeared deeper into the warehouse, like a bloodhound sniffing for gunpowder.

“Who died and put you in charge?” John remarked, watching her with his arms folded across his chest.

“Nobody died, but my brother trusts my word. You don’t have to if you don’t want to but last time I checked your options are pretty limited.”

“Yeah, to follow you around or let them try to kill me, with no guarantee that I even have a _shot_ at freedom ever again.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to figure out what it would take to work off some of your frustration before it overtakes whatever it is keeping you from trying to kill my brother and I. Before I thought it was fear but now…I’ve got my doubts.”

“So what if it isn’t fear?”

“Then it’s probably you trying to get close to my brother and learn his weaknesses. To which I say good luck with that.” Katia turned and started following her brother into the warehouse. John opened his mouth to reply and then huffed and proceeded to follow her, as well.

***

Diana bit her lip as she studied her phone, currently tracking the signal on John Smith’s earpiece and placing him, or at least it, in a Los Angeles warehouse that, on paper, belonged to a private military contractor called Verax, responsible for a lot of aid and assistance to the United States military in recent conflicts, locked in scandal first with the disappearance of billions of US dollars and then more recently connected to the fugitive Martin Odum. Public opinion was divided, which Diana had found a rather interesting development. _So much for Mr. Shaw’s ‘I control belief’ speech_ , she thought bitingly.

Diana found the discussions between Katia and John increasingly troubling, and she knew it would trouble her bosses if they heard it as it developed. They would, eventually, as she’d have to turn over the tapes when the mission was over, and she was starting to dread it.

“Diana,” a man said in her headset as if he could sense her disquiet. “Is there an asset you want us to contact?”

“No,” she replied. There was no asset they could send that wouldn’t tip off Katia, and Katia was a rogue, unpredictable individual, whose only loyalty at this stage was to her brother. Diana couldn’t take any chances with her, not until she was certain what the woman could or couldn’t do. “Keep your eyes on the ground on John Smith,” she said simply.

“Roger.”

She sighed and tipped her head back, closing her eyes. “And one more thing, agent.”

“Yes, Diana?”

“Where are the Agents?”

“Which agents, ma’am?”

“You know the ones. The primary assets. I need all of them contacted, retired or not, and I need ETAs on each one of them.”

“What for?”

“Back up.”

“For you?”

“For them. Katia requested it.”

“Roger,” he said again, and he disconnected. Diana sighed, relaxing into the seat and beginning to plan her own personal happy hour.


	90. 2015: A Slight Change In Plans

47 had made his way around the room containing the table of arguing men and leaned to peer through one of the room’s two doorways before he felt something on his elbow, pulling him back. He inhaled sharply at the contact and looked over his shoulder, finding it was just Katia. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and glanced at the men again. Johnson was shouting, dominating the conversation and slapping the table repeatedly at points. Opposing him was a pale, redheaded man, Andrew. The other two, Sheldon and Yuri, sat back and watched, the former showing concern and the other hints of anger behind a near perfect mask of serenity.

“He looks like he’s about to crack,” she remarked. 47 looked at her, and then at the men at the table, at Yuri. He hummed, and turned back to a small, dirty window revealing the interior of a neighboring room housing a panel of monitors displaying various images from security footage about the location of Dr. Ort-Meyer’s assassination. Katia took another step toward the men, the ringleaders of Verax, led on by instinct and a vague memory as she had been led for years on a quest to find her father by any means necessary.

“Katia?” 47 asked softly, looking at her. John looked between them and inched closer but 47 held up an arm to stop him. “Katia, do you recognize him?” She didn’t respond, choosing instead to continue studying Yuri and make the assessment herself. After a moment, Yuri glanced at her, recognizing that he was being watched, but he looked back at his coworkers, hiding this remarkably well.

_So, this is how we’re going to play. Shadows and secrets._ She gestured to 47, who nodded and slipped into position as she did. “You signal Ian,” Katia whispered to John, and he gave her a confused look. She wondered if he understood her, but judging by his mild annoyance, she guessed he just didn’t like being bossed around. She pulled a face, and he nodded, throwing up his hands a little and turning to leave, in search of Ian. Katia looked back at the room, assessing their targets.

***

Yuri detected Katia’s presence as easily as he had the first time, but returned his attention to Johnson and his shouting at Andrew, who in turn tried to make his point when Johnson paused for air. Though they were under attack, somehow still these two men found a way to argue with each other. Yuri took a quiet moment to note to himself that if the doctor were here he would resolve disputes like this, the old man being the tie-breaking vote more often than not. But alas, that was not to be this time. So it was either let them argue or figure something else out, and he was running short on options. “Gentlemen,” he finally said, slicing through the words and getting Johnson’s and Andrew’s attention. They looked at him, falling silent finally, and he took them in. “Gentlemen,” he repeated. “This is enough infighting. If the enemy knew you were up to this sort of childish playground nonsense they would never take us seriously and we would all be annihilated. You saw what happened to the doctor, it would be much worse, the carnage would be truly disturbing because they do not see us as worthy adversaries. They need to see us as worthy adversaries for us to have any chance of victory. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“I will _not_ be accused of something I didn’t do!” Johnson shouted, turning on Yuri and slamming the table as he straightened.

“No one is trying to do such,” Yuri replied. “Nobody but that tape, and as deplorable as Jason Shaw was, he proved just as well as any of us could that tapes can be manipulated. Even the most basic street criminal can figure out how to do it.”

“Besides, for all we know it’s not even you!” Andrew replied. “Do we have to investigate you more thoroughly than the rest of us?”

“He’s right, you’re being unnaturally defensive,” Yuri added, cocking an eyebrow.

Johnson paused for a moment, seemingly torn between throwing himself across the table to try to tear Yuri to shreds, and saving it for later. The internal struggle carried on for several moments, before Johnson’s impulsivity won out and he knocked the table out of the way—forcing Andrew to the side—as he charged for Yuri. Yuri shot back, toppling the chair, and grabbed Johnson’s forearms, blocking his strike. He pulled back, and Yuri allowed it, knowing he was only preparing to strike again. He moved back, blocking every one of Johnson’s strikes effortlessly as Johnson charged him, trying again and again to punch him in the face at least once. Finally he grabbed Johnson by the wrists and spun him around.

A gunshot echoed through the room, and Johnson twitched violently and Yuri dropped him to the floor. Andrew and Sheldon looked from him to the doorway where the shot had originated. Yuri cleared his throat a little and, in the near seamless Russian of a native speaker who hadn’t used the language in some time, said, “Here I thought you were dead.”

***

“I heard shooting, what’s going on?” Riley asked frantically, looking from one area of his screen to the next.

“It’s alright,” Ian said. “For now at least.”

“What’s going on?” Jackie asked, leaning over the table and watching the screen, positioning her voice close to the earpiece. “Do we need a change of plans?”

“Slightly. All I can see is Martin is uninjured.”

“Anything else?”

“Not…readily discernable. I’ll prepare the boys. Riley?”

“Yeah?” he asked, now freezing in place.

“Do it.”


	91. 2015: Katia Sees A Ghost

John stopped just short of the door where Ian and Shaw were waiting. He looked over his shoulder at the source of the shot. “Sounds like trouble,” Ian said, poking his head through the door. John merely nodded and turned back to the source of the sound, making his way back and seeming to almost forget the pair of them behind them.

***

Katia lowered her weapon slowly, still making it clear she was quite ready to shoot again if absolutely necessary. Her eyes locked on Yuri while Andrew and Sheldon watched her, terrified.

“How did you get in here?” Sheldon asked.

“Not as hard as one might think,” she merely replied, her eyes scanning every face in the room distinctly. She heard footsteps behind her and tilted her head a little toward them, counting five people on the approach. She looked back at the three men. “At least invest in basic door locks,” she remarked.

Yuri watched the girl in front of him, and the men coming into view behind her, and he cleared his throat. “Can you speak Russian?” he asked.

“Of course I can,” she replied in a seamless switch. “Here I thought I recognized you.”

Yuri blinked and squinted at her, and Andrew and Sheldon looked at each other, at Yuri, and then at Katia, waiting for what would happen next. “I’m sorry,” Katia said, “but I’ve got a job to do.” She fired twice, shooting Andrew and Sheldon both in the head, dropping them without hesitation. Then she lowered her weapon and looked at Yuri. “Do you know why you’re still alive?” she asked, echoing 47’s words earlier that week. Yuri shook his head, confused and stunned. “Because I chose not to kill you. I know your name’s not really Yuri Mikhailov.”

***

John stopped, creasing his brow and cocking his head. He only knew enough Russian to vaguely make out what Katia was saying, but what he did make out suggested something was highly off. He turned on his heel to Ian and Shaw. “OK you guys get Martin and 23 out of here,” he said bluntly. Ian nodded, and they turned to the annex room to the one where the meeting had been disrupted, beginning to edge around and out of sight.

John turned and edged closer to the doorway and 47, watching Katia as intently as he was. “Who’s that guy?” he whispered to 47.

“I’m not sure,” 47 replied, folding his eyebrows slightly.

***

Katia let Yuri watch her, at first confused and then nodding in understanding. He stepped closer to her. “Devya,” he said softly. “Oh, you’ve grown up.” Katia nodded, acknowledging him. He was the only one to ever call her that.

“You’ve adopted a new legend, Slava,” she replied. “I thought you retired.”

“Technically yes, but Slava is dead. It was my only escape.” Katia considered his words, and nodded.

“Why fall in with those twits, then?” she asked.

“Similar reasons to your father making clones,” he said. “The world has not stopped being a precarious place since the official end of the Cold War, oh no. The world is still waiting for the flip of a switch. People who know want to be ready.”

“Explains why they tend to choose private start-ups.” Slava managed a weak shrug as a response, and Katia tentatively lowered her weapon, glancing over her shoulder at 47 and John. “Do you know what Verax has done?” she asked slowly, looking back at him. He looked at her solemnly, and she regarded him. “And you didn’t do anything?” she challenged.

“I tried not to let it get worse,” he remarked. “We all did. There would not have been a schism of he hadn’t decided he had to start running…”

“Psy-Ops,” Katia supplied.

“It’s fascism is what it is!”

“Communists still hate fascists, I see.” She took a deep breath. “Listen, none of this is the reason I’m currently keeping you alive, Slava. I’m doing it because you were the liaison between my father and various foreign governments while the Agent Program was operational.” She took a breath. “He died a few days ago.” Yuri paled, straightened as much as he could, and generally seemed like he was trying to hold it together for her sake.

Behind her, Katia could guess John was giving 47 a questioning look. She could choose to apologize or not for her reasons later, though she could guess 47 would think she was being much too sentimental.

“What do you want?” Yuri asked.

“We’ll start with everything you know about Verax.”


	92. 2015: Riley's Program Works Perfectly

Riley bit his lip, watching his program work, reporting back at each successful completion of a phase. The thing was huge, and what it was after was a lot larger than he’d expected. It was taking a while and part of him was thinking that his program had run into some kind of error, though he knew logically it would report back if that were the case.

Jackie paced back and forth behind him, chewing on her own set of worries: about her cousin, about his crew, about Shaw in particular, about the backlash all this data would cause if it were released, about so many related things. She glanced at Ben and Abigail periodically, but could only guess what they were thinking. Every so often she looked at Riley’s computer screen in hopes of checking the program’s progress but finding just about as much useful information as he was. And she didn’t even really understand it all.

Ben and Abigail briefly glanced at each other, sharing a silent exchange regarding who was going to say something first, and then Ben cleared his throat. “So…uh…what’s goin’ on?” he asked.

Riley barely glanced up. “A lot more files than I expected,” he merely replied. Then he touched the earpiece. “Hey, this is taking a bit, are we still good?” he asked Ian.

“How far are we?” Ian asked in response.

“About forty percent, climbing steady.”

“That’s good. Keep an eye on that, we’ve got this. I think.”

“You _think_? That’s not comforting.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

***

Katia had taken a seat at the table and inviting Yuri to do the same, and she was keenly aware that she was being watched. In the back of her mind she could feel Ian and Shaw working their way to the room’s other entry, trying to get Ian’s brother and hers out alive before this mess got any worse. She couldn’t blame them, but she hoped Yuri didn’t notice. “Verax cannot be grasped,” he was saying to her, gesturing in a way that reminded her of that guy from _Ancient Aliens._ “It’s a monster in its own way. It’s grown too large. It does too much. I’m sure you’ve heard of Ensign, how they have the FBI, but it’s bigger than that.”

“The army,” she said. “The United States Army.”

“It’s bigger than that. It’s even bigger than Arcadia. See, Devya, it’s worse than anything you know.”

“What I know about you fucks is pretty bad. This better be a massive bombshell for me to care much.”

“The ICA,” he simply said. “Your brother’s handler would never admit it, and I think it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. But the ICA is closer to us than you might realize.”

“Because of you?”

“Because of a lot of things. They like to keep tabs on us, and we like to keep tabs on them.”

“Mutual espionage.”

Yuri nodded. Katia considered him a moment, comparing what her brother told her about how the ICA wanted to “acquire” her as an asset—an assassin. “Tell me about them,” she said. “About the ICA.”

“I don’t know much,” he said. “No one at Ensign shares anything with us.”

“They really are like the CIA.”

“Before I formed the group I came to learn through your father about the ICA’s involvement with his work. They wanted the final results, I gather. It…unsettled him. Then he saw what his Agents could do, and that made it worse.”

“They made him keep going?”

“Until they got their hands on the older Agents, and then the pressure eased up a little. But by then the older Agents were proving their worth, and he cracked.”

“And he ran.”

Yuri said nothing, but Katia could fill in the gaps already. He considered her for several moments before asking, “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Katia weighed this, and while she believed him she wondered how far she could go with this. She didn’t even remember the man. What was she expecting? And for all she knew he was lying through his teeth, playing on a vague memory in hopes of escaping with his life.

She took a deep breath, feeling 47 watching her, and knew exactly what he was going to say: _Trust your instincts._ And something about suppressing fear, as well. So she took a moment to objectively observe him. While she could never guess why, she could tell he’d been telling her the truth this whole time. “There’s nothing I want to know,” she said. “But I want something from you.”

“Yes?”

“Do everything in your power to clear Martin Odum’s name. John Cameron, or whatever it is that you call him. The only reason we went to all this trouble is for his sake. Help us make sure it’s worth something.”

***

Finally the terminal on Riley’s computer shifted, providing a message of “Finished” and returning his prompt. For a moment Ben stared. “Is that it?” he asked.

“What were you expecting? A beeping sound?” Riley replied. Ben glared but said nothing. Riley began typing out another string of commands for his little program and considered the cache of documents for a moment. “That is a lot more than I expected,” he said. “Straight release or parcel out?” he asked over the earpiece.

He heard Ian hum over the earpiece; he sounded distracted, and Riley started to worry a little about the situation on his end. “You alright?” he asked.

“Things are going south,” Ian replied.

***

Ian and Shaw had gotten Martin and 23 just as far as the van where the rest of Ian’s crew waited, keeping watch and being edgy as usual, on alert and waiting for something to happen. By the time he had gotten communication from Riley, Shaw spotted a van pulling into the lot, and black-clad soldiers were piling out of it, moving toward the warehouse entrance as if they were about to storm the castle.

“Can you signal Katia and 47?” Ian asked over the comm.

“Yeah, hang on,” Riley replied, and Ian immediately heard the tapping of keys on Riley’s end. “What’s going on over there?”

“We’ve got uninvited guests,” he said simply, and he turned back to the van. “Phil, Victor, secure Martin and 23. Powell, Shaw, get the guns.” Ian shifted his stance a little and watched the men, worried. They had just reached the front door.


	93. 2015: When Helpful Armies Entrap

Katia heard the men approaching and stood, turning to 47 and John. “Get ready. We have visitors,” she said. She glanced in the general direction of the front door and looked at Yuri. “We’ve got to get you out of here,” she said to him. He nodded to show understanding, and she turned and slipped out of the annexed office and into the main building. The main room of the warehouse was already crawling with soldiers combing the building, and Katia ducked behind a stack of crates, taking deep, quiet, rapid breaths. One passed right by her, speaking over a comm line to his commanding officer without even noticing her. She let a silent sigh escape her.

She spotted 47 and John, hovering at the door, just out of sight of an initial sweep. 47 was watching her intently, waiting for her move, her decision. She glanced at the soldiers again, and remembered what Yuri said, what Ort-Meyer and 23 said. She looked at 47 and gestured for him to come forward. He glanced at the swarm and slipped around back, reappearing behind her in a matter of seconds.

“What is it, Katia?” he asked.

“Get Yuri to tell them to stand down. They have to listen to him,” she replied. He nodded and disappeared back into the shadows again. She glanced at the soldiers, keeping carefully out of their line of sight. Yuri stepped out into the main room, holding up his hands.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he said, shaking a little. The soldiers hesitated, and one spoke into his headset about the change in circumstances. Yuri Mikhailov was confirmed safe, and definitely not an acceptable target.

And then John had to be a cowboy. “Fuck this,” he muttered, grabbing his gun and preparing to fire. He heard Diana shout something on the other line but he wasn’t paying attention. He was already taking aim.

47 saw this, and so did Katia. He turned, pushing him off balance, but causing him to fire the shot anyway. Of course it would ricochet, he would think to himself later. Katia darted across the floor to tackle Yuri, just as bullets started flying at her brother and John, and just before one had pierced Yuri’s skull. 47 wisely ducked out of sight, and John tore out the earpiece and battery it was hooked up to, throwing them aside and darting for a back exit.

“Where are you going?!” Katia demanded over her shoulder.

“To freedom, assholes!” he replied loudly, flipping off the room at large with both hands before sprinting off.

“Hold fire!” someone shouted, and immediately the shooting stopped. He must’ve noticed something Katia didn’t, and she looked down at Yuri, blood still leaking out of two neat holes in his head. She gasped and scrambled back, pulling one wrist to her mouth as what had happened fully set in. The men stared at her, at Yuri’s body. “Alright, nobody panic,” he said. “Steady hands! Johnson! Ericson! Tend to Mr. Mikhailov’s body.” He turned to Katia and lowered his weapon, squatting next to her. “You can’t save ‘em all,” he said, trying to rest a hand on her shoulder. Katia jerked away a little, so he pulled back. “Just trust me kid. I know.”

Katia nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to get her wits about her again. She stood, and he stood with her and looked around at his guys. Johnson and Ericson had already covered Yuri with a tarp. Katia took the time to note the obvious lack of procedures, and realized there was probably a different way Verax handled their dead chief officers than most other institutions would.

With a sinking feeling she remembered Andrew and Johnson. They would be found soon enough, she was sure of it. John had already made a break for it, and she hoped that made him look suspicious enough to let her and 47 escape just fine. She allowed the commander of the unit to help her up, and, in her best Sophia Rieper impression, she stuttered, “I…I think…” She reached toward the office, pointing. “I think there’s a couple other blokes in there.” The man nodded and gestured for a couple men to follow him into the office. 47 melted into the shadows as they approached. She took a few steps back, still letting herself be shaken and disturbed as part of her act.

She heard the man gasp and whisper, “Holy damn.” He yelled for more men, and about half the unit rushed into the room. 47 reemerged from the shadows just as the man yelled for the warehouse to be shut down, but Katia was way ahead of him, already on her feet and on her way to an obscure exit. Her hand found 47’s elbow and pulled him along behind her, weaving through the shadows in a maze-like fashion with the distinct impression that she was running on autopilot.

_Too much death_ , she reasoned. She had seen too much death within the last week.

The shadows of the warehouse contrasted sharply with the brightness outside in the parking lot, and Katia gasped a little, squinting harshly at the sudden change. Vans were pulling into the lot, a lot of them carrying black-clad soldiers, and Katia knew they must have been called by one of the men in the warehouse. _Weren’t there supposed to be reinforcements?_ she asked herself. _Where were they?_ She looked at 47, starting to feel a little sick and incredibly exposed. The men in the vans poured out, fanning across the parking lot toward the warehouse. Some were already well on the path of encircling the building.

“We’re never going to get out of here.”


	94. 2015: How To Liberate A Prisoner, Part 2

Ian looked out the back door of the van at the flood of soldiers, surrounding them and the warehouse at large. He could feel it, and he could tell his men could feel it, and Martin could feel it. When he looked across the lot at Katia and 47, he blending into the shadows but she looking a little like a stunned deer or rabbit, he could tell they feel it, too.

_Who had called them in the first place?_ he found himself asking. Surely someone had to, or the first unit would not have shown up at all. He glanced over his shoulder at Shaw, who gave him a confused look, and it was clear that the only support he could offer right at that moment was emotional in nature. “Call Ben,” he said, to the group at large while not looking at any of them. He could feel Phil giving him a confused look, and he knew the reason. They already had a comm link to Riley, but he had the distinct feeling that he couldn’t trust that anymore. Phil looked between Ian and Shaw before nodding and swallowing thickly, fishing out his cell phone and dialing a number.

He took a deep breath and tried to center himself as he looked back out at the lot again. Katia and 47 had both disappeared from the side of the warehouse, but as far as he could tell she hadn’t attracted the attention of the soldiers, some of whom were starting to filter into the warehouse while the rest formed a perimeter around the lot. “We’re not going to get out of this,” Ian said quietly. “Or, if we are, it’ll be a long, bloody fight.” He looked at his crew again, just as Phil got off the phone with Ben.

“Ben knows. But I don’t think Riley can help us here,” Phil said.

“He’s done plenty. Perhaps let him rest.” Ian turned back to the rest of his crew. They couldn’t sneak out, and the obvious choice was to blast right through the perimeter with the van, risking the lives of everyone inside. He sighed a little, pursing his lips and running his mouth over his mouth. “Victor,” he said finally, “start the van.” The crewmates in the back of the van looked at each other and then at Ian. “I don’t like this any more than you do,” he explained, “but we’re sitting ducks otherwise.”

***

Katia remained pressed against the wall, scanning the soldiers marching toward the warehouse and those at the perimeter. “We’re screwed,” she whispered to 47.

“Which means you don’t see a way out of this?” 47 asked.

“Not without serious bodily injury, detection, being hunted down and killed…” He held up a hand to stop her. Katia took a deep breath, remembering his previous instructions to her: _Suppress your fear, face the threat._ She scanned the line again. Those reinforcements should’ve been there any minute now, and funnily, just as she had the thought, a silver van drove up toward the lot, slowing down. A couple men from the perimeter stepped forward to make an assessment.

“The cavalry has arrived,” 47 whispered, cocking an eyebrow.

“Presuming they can get in the door,” Katia replied. She glanced at the van with Ian, Martin, and the crew. The van had started, and Katia suspected they were planning on making for the line, either slowly or quickly, whatever would work best. This, on two fronts, was shaping up to be conflict and chaos all around.

At the front the men were refusing to allow the van. At her side, the van started moving forward, heading at a steady but increasing pace toward the line. Someone was going to get hurt. The van wasn’t bulletproof, and the men inside certainly weren’t either. Katia huffed softly, considering the situation. She doubted they would die, but she didn’t think for a second anyone would come out of that unharmed. But they stood a better chance if…she glanced at 47. “I have an idea,” she said. “If you’re prepared to fight.”

“Oh?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“We have to draw them toward us somehow, or at least, away from our allies.” She glanced at the van at the entrance, where four black-clad soldiers were trying to negotiate with a bald driver in tactical gear. This would risk their exposure, she knew that, and they might not make it out of a situation like that alive, but the way she saw it, someone had to do something.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, looking sidelong at her.

“Do you have a better one?” she remarked, cocking an eyebrow as she looked at him.

“Good point.” 47 pressed the butt of his pistol into Katia’s hand, and she took another look at him. “Don’t get shot,” he said. She nodded, her fingers shifting a little on the grip, and she scanned the men around the van again. By this point the other vehicle was already at the perimeter, and men were shouting at it to stop. Knowing who was inside, that was probably not going to happen, and they were playing a dangerous game.

Katia knew she had two options: step out into the sunlight and fire into the sky for attention, which her altruistic self was leaning toward, or kill one or two of the men at the front gate, which her “I don’t want to die” self was leaning toward. She’d be outnumbered, outgunned, and as far as they knew easily overpowered, but if she played this right she knew she had a fighting chance. Well, that meant being careful, and her decision was made.

She aimed the pistol and took a deep breath before firing. A man cried out as he was struck, and dropped to the pavement along the side of the van. Another man was already on the comm system alerting everyone to a “hostile on site”, and she ducked back into the shadows, behind a thick pillar, and waited. 47 looked at her, as if expecting the next step of the plan, and she nodded slightly, tilting her head toward the van, which then started moving into the lot, the driver seemingly unperturbed by what just happened. All things considered, Katia shouldn’t have been surprised.

The men at the perimeter began to scatter as general chaos set in, and started looking for the hostile. Katia glanced at the van containing Ian, his brother, and his crew, moving faster now that they could tell they had a better chance at a live escape. In the chaos, the van eased into the lot, and Katia glanced at 47, who was clearly debating with himself about approaching it. She swallowed a little, and thought about how to best deal with this situation. She still felt the knife edge under her feet, though it was a little more stable now as far as what it would take to escape.

She took a deep breath and glanced at the driver of the van at the gate, trying to think. If she fired again she would give away her position, and she wasn’t able to get to a hiding place in time for them to converge on her and her brother. “Can you signal him?” she whispered to 47, indicating the driver of the van again.

47 glanced at him from his hiding place before looking at Katia again. “I can try.”

“Good luck, Agent 47,” she said with a slight smile, and she looked at the van. A small group of guards were chasing after it now, shouting and waving their arms. One of them had the good sense about him to stop and take aim with his assault rifle and fire a few shots. A few other men stopped and fired shots as well, but the van kept rolling. The driver adopted a slightly serpentine pattern to avoid the bullets, and Katia bit her lip. It was still going to be a tight escape for them.

Someone was yelling at the group for firing on the van who was leaving, trying to get everything under control. Men at the front were peeling away from the van there, as if willing to let it pass if it will help manage the chaos before it got any worse. _I doubt that’s going to happen,_ Katia thought.

She realized she was edgy, and she took a few deep breaths and turned to the incoming van as it eased up to the warehouse and parked. 47 stepped slightly out of the shadows, enough to be noticed by the driver, as he was, but still remain hidden by the men busy with the current situation. The van eased up toward them, seemingly unnoticed, and 47 approached the driver, stepping up onto a step in front of the door and tapping on the glass. The driver rolled the window down, and 47 spoke to him in hushed tones. Katia glanced at the escaping van, now moving for the front and pretty much in the clear. It seemed the leader decided it was time to yell at them for letting the van get away before questioning the inhabitants, but Katia breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least they were out.

That just left--.

Katia’s calculations were interrupted by the sound of sirens as about a dozen cop cars flooded the street in front of the gate and around the warehouse, lights flashing as they all skidded to a stop and armed officers got out of their cars. Someone got out a megaphone and yelled, “Freeze! FBI!”

“What the…?” Katia asked, creasing her brow and somewhat carelessly stepping into the open in her confusion. 47 stepped off the van and looked as well, scanning them all. Katia noticed one agent in particular, a man of average height with mouse-brown hair turning gray and a scruffy beard. One arm rested on an open car door and the other on his hip, and the wind rustled his hair slightly.


	95. 2015: How To Liberate A Prisoner, Part 3

Sadusky surveyed the scene, trying mostly to make sense of it. What he saw was a lot of black-clad men who apparently used to be in formation but through a string of circumstances had broken it. On the way he’d passed a van driven by that Shippen character who had paid him no mind, as if preoccupied with something. Sadusky figured this mess was what he was preoccupied with.

A quick scan revealed that the current small army of FBI agents he brought with him were probably outnumbered and almost certainly outgunned, but already a few of them were dropping their weapons onto the straps that kept them secured to their bodies, and holding up their hands. He pursed his lips, watching these men in particular and realizing that they had known they lost, and wanted to get out of this as well as they possibly could. They weren’t truly evil, just hired on for whatever job they were doing and currently at the wrong place at the wrong time.

That left him to root out the truly evil bastards.

The guys on the ground weren’t evil, but they could point him to the ones that were. He approached the front of the wall of officers and asked for the megaphone. “My name is Agent Peter Sadusky,” he said to them. “I’m willing to go easy on all of you if you point me in the direction of the guy in charge of all of you.”

“Our unit commander?” one of them shouted, confused and a little scared. Under the helmet Sadusky guessed he couldn’t have been more than twenty. As he spoke, a man stepped out of the warehouse, looking around at the confusion before approaching the front, where Sadusky stood waiting for him. The other men let him through, and he walked up to the agent.

“Are you in charge of these fellas?” Sadusky asked.

The man nodded. “Yes, sir, but I doubt I’m the man you’re looking for.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve got nothing to do with whatever the bosses were up to. I’m just here to keep these guys in line, follow orders and all that. We’re just the grunts.”

He thought for a moment that some people said the same thing in Nuremburg a while back, but then, Verax wasn’t responsible for the mass quarantine and massacre of millions of people, to the best of his knowledge. “And where are the guys in charge?” he asked.

“Dead.”

***

“Who’s that?” Katia asked, indicating the FBI agent now conversing with the leader of the ground troop unit surrounding the warehouse. 47 looked at her.

“I don’t know,” he replied simply. “But we need to think about getting out of here.” She nodded, swallowing thickly and not quite able to shake the feeling that there was something boiling just beneath the surface. This was just the beginning.

The soldiers were already occupied with the FBI agents, so she indicated a back gate in the fence and stepped around 47 as she made her way there. He fell in two paces behind her almost exactly. “Is there trouble?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “At least…not per se.” She turned immediately into the alley behind the warehouse, but the feeling had still not left her.

“Yet you feel something.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“You were given the ability to detect danger.”

She stopped and looked at him. “I’m not sure if this is danger. That’s the problem. Or if there is a danger, it’s a long con, not an immediate threat.”

“I see.”

She took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sure once the documents are all leaked we’ll be able to figure out whatever this feeling is. Until then, we need to focus on finding a place to hide. We dealt a massive blow to a mighty corporation today, and I’ve got a strong feeling that once they recover, they’ll come looking for us.”

He gave the slightest of nods, noting that she had left any and all ‘ifs’ out of the equation. “We poked the head of a sleeping dragon,” she continued. “Now it’s awake.”

***

“Hello?” Ben asked when he picked up his cell phone.

“We’re out,” Ian replied, cutting right to the point as he always had with the man. Ian looked around the van as it coasted down the street, and his eyes fell on a patch of road behind them. So far no one was following them.

“That’s good.”

“Any news on your end?” he asked as he looked back at his crew, Martin, and 23.

“Tell him the documents just finished uploading,” he heard Riley say over the phone, distantly.

“The—”

“I heard him.” This meant the story was going to break within the next several minutes, just as they planned. Ian felt a lead ball settle into his stomach, knowing that whatever was there would crack open everything and probably slap a massive target across all their backs. That wasn’t something he was looking forward to in the slightest. He took a deep breath. “Thanks for your help back there.”

“No problem.”

“H-hey, where are you guys going?” Riley asked. His voice sounded closer, so Ian could guess that he had probably taken Ben’s phone. What an odd couple those two were, he thought to himself.

“We’re working on it,” Ian said, copying Ben’s famous phrase. He looked at Shaw and Martin in particular. “Is there anything you can tell me now about what we just did?”

“As far as we can tell,” Riley said, “attract the attention of the Secretary of State.”

“Conrad Tomlin?”

“Yep. And don’t forget Senator Gorman.”

Ian hissed, realizing they had forgotten people. Great. The war with Verax was long from over. He gave an apologetic look to his brother. “Riley, can you get me information on the top remaining Verax employees?”

“How much detail?”

“Everything you can find.” Powell, Victor and Shaw looked up, somewhat surprised. Phil looked around, unsettled, but he knew as well as his compatriots did that when Ian was on the warpath, he wanted to know who he was targeting better than their spouses.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Give it a couple of hours and I’ll have preliminary files ready.”

“Thank you, Riley.”

“You know what? You’re welcome, Ian.” Ian could tell Riley was making a point, which meant there was still a rift of some sort between him and Ben. Ian didn’t want to guess at what it was, and instead turned his attention to something else. He hung up the phone and looked at Martin.

“We’ll need a place to lie low for a couple days,” he said.

“I know a place,” Martin replied. “I don’t know how long we’ll be able to hide there, but it should be enough to plan out our next move.”

Ian nodded. “Alright then, lead the way.”


	96. 2007: After The Race But Before The Fall

Riley was released from the hospital with a prescription for painkillers and a pair of crutches to use while he figured out how to walk again. One of the first things he was keenly aware of was the fact that it felt like he could barely get one of his legs to work. But he managed well enough on his way out the hospital doors to a large white heavy-duty vehicle of some type where Jackie waited, leaning on the door. She propped it open and helped him inside, and he settled into the seat next to her and behind Ian with a heavy sigh.

“You alright back there?” Ian asked.

“Yeah, I’m—Wait, how did you get here?” Riley replied, belatedly snapping into realization.

Ian chuckled and shrugged as he pulled away from the sidewalk. “Ben pulled a few strings, in spite of himself. He didn’t tell me what exactly he said, or to whom, but that’s Ben for you.”

“Somehow talking a lot and saying nothing at the same time.”

Ian laughed a little more. “Exactly. So, how’re you feeling?”

Riley sighed, resting his hand on his face and closing his eyes. “High…freaked out…”

Ian nodded, pursing his lips. “Alright. That’s fair.”

“Um…thanks for picking me up.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned a corner.

“Abi told us about the problems you and Ben were having,” Jackie said, and Riley looked at her lazily, groggily.

“It’s been…problems…for all three of us,” Riley said.

“I noticed.” Jackie didn’t want to bring up the argument Ben and Abigail had at his bedside while he was asleep. But then, she guessed he knew all that already. His tone indicated he’d witnessed a lot more than just one fight.

Riley rolled his head back to the window again. “Hey, where’re you taking me?” he asked Ian.

“To a place I own out in the countryside,” Ian explained. “Quiet, secluded, safe, so you can recover in peace.”

“You mean so no one can hear me scream?”

Ian looked over his shoulder, for a moment offended and startled that Riley thought such a thing, but Jackie held up her hand and reached over to touch Riley’s arm. “He’s still kind of messed up about…the shaft thing,” she said.

“You mean being left to die? Being shot at a couple times…gun at my head…the time I blew up…”

“OK so there’s a lot going on that he’s messed up about. That…you probably did.”

“No, I don’t deny it,” Ian said, shaking his head a little. “Jackie insisted I clear the house of guns and most other weapons, not that I fought her on it.” His thumb drummed on the steering wheel a little as he turned another corner. “We both figured that it would help you feel a little safer.”

Riley cracked an eye open. “Your guys?”

Ian shrugged. “Might drop by to visit.”

“Shaw will hang around a lot more,” Jackie said. “But that’s mostly to hang out with him.”

“Okay.” Riley closed his eye again and exhaled, settling into the seat. Jackie looked from him to Ian.

“Ian and I are going to hang out with you for a bit until you’re fit to fly back to the States,” she said to him.

“Okay,” he said again, leaning his head on the window.

“Oh,” Ian said, “and I forgot to mention, Damien will be staying there, too.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Jackie gasped, grinning. “How is the little mini-Shaw?” Riley had been about to quip something about _The Omen_ , but he opted against it when Jackie suggested the kid was a clone of some kind. He could get the details later.

“He’s doing alright, adjusting to the outside world after a whole life in a lab and training facility. Which means I sure as hell hope he didn’t break into the gun safe and turn my country house into a fortress. I do not want to clean that mess up.” Jackie smiled and shook her head a little. Ian glanced in the mirror again at Riley. “Holding up alright, Riley?”

“When’re we gonna get there?” he mumbled in response, wishing he could hide in Ian’s big country house and never see another living person again until he stopped feeling like a disaster. Jackie couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’ll be another twenty minutes, try to get your sleep,” she said.

***

“How did you get him out of trouble?” Abigail asked Ben in hushed tones after he was done briefly explaining the situation to his father.

“I made a few calls, Abi,” he said. “We’ve been over this.”

“Ben!”

He sighed. “OK, fine. I told the President I needed Ian’s help with our…project. I said ‘y’know, we’ve always been such a great team, I’d hate to go it alone, he’s always been great to bounce ideas off of’, things like that, which…is mostly true.”

“Ben…” she said, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes.

Ben sighed. “He doesn’t know I told you.”

“Ben, what are you doing?”

“I’m…working on it,” he said. He sighed heavily. “Ian and I worked very well together before we had an ideological split on whether to steal the Declaration of Independence or not.”

“…Which you did.”

“To keep him from stealing it, it’s different.” Abigail watched him, narrowing his eyes and tilting her head. “I knew I could protect it,” he said solemnly. “I couldn’t say that about Ian. You know this. You saw him for yourself.”

“Exactly. So why are you doing this now?”

Ben sighed. “I didn’t want him to go back.” There were a myriad of reasons for this: the treasure hunt, Shaw’s return and Ian and his crew’s clear reaction to that, but also that it felt…right, in some ethereal, spiritual way. Ian was in prison because of him, and it seemed right that he should be the one to pull the strings and get him out of trouble. And, perhaps, he had also missed him. He wanted his friend with him for treasure hunts. The last one, Cibola, didn’t quite feel right without Ian. But Ben was not about to tell Abigail the depths of this lest she get jealous of Ian of all people.

“So you’re protecting him,” she surmised.

“Well, there’s that,” he admitted. By his tone Abigail guessed that there was a lot more going on that he wasn’t willing to discuss.

“What’re you gonna tell him?”

“When we get around to it, the truth. Just like I told you.”

“And what about Riley?”

Ben bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. Right, he hadn’t told Riley yet. “I’ve been careful. I’m not sure who I can tell and who I can’t.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Then maybe you should.” Ben merely nodded and gave her a small affirmative sound. “Work on that, and then we can move forward.” He nodded again.

Ben didn’t notice until too late that his father had seen the whole thing.


	97. 2007: New Normal

President Greenwood hummed to himself as he considered what Ben had just told him. He knew the man’s admitted inability to bluff, and his subsequent poor poker streaks, so when the man admitted to telling his current girlfriend about the page, under pressure, and her insistence, and his desire, to tell his team of sorts, his buddies and usual treasure hunting cohorts. He licked his upper lip and settled back in the chair. “You need to be careful,” he chided, as a father would a son, or anyone with common sense someone about to do something incredibly stupid.

“I know,” Ben replied.

“Abigail, Riley, Ian…are these people you trust?”

“Abigail and Riley, yes. Ian is…more peculiar.”

“Complicated?” Ben nodded, and Greenwood nodded back, considering. “You asked for his freedom from the American legal system, so I presume there’s something there.”

Ben nodded again. “Ian was in prison because of me, so I thought it was right that I be the one to get him out.”

“And he was your friend, at one time, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“I never exactly _said_ this should be a strictly classified secret,” Greenwood explained. “Between the Templar Treasure and Cibola, I know I can leave a treasure hunt up to your personal judgment. I prefer if you kept a reasonably tight lid on it, however, for one because the last time someone couldn’t keep a lid on a treasure, a whole family got called kooks.” Ben smirked at this, shaking his head a little and remembering his family’s former reputation. “I’m gonna trust your judgment, but I hope for your sake and the sakes of everyone you involve, it’s good judgment.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben said, nodding and one hundred percent solemn. The stakes were clearly dire, whatever this thing led to. The Templar Treasure was one thing, and Cibola was something else, but searching out what Dr. Litvenko knew would be absolutely revolutionary.

***

Riley groaned, reaching up to rub his face and rolling off his hip as the pain medication wore off and he lapsed into a sort of wakeful state he was not particularly looking forward to. “Good morning,” Jackie said next to him, smiling. He cracked an eye open and found her sitting on the bed, leaning back and looking at him.

“Really?” he asked.

“Well, it’s more like two in the afternoon, but…” she shrugged. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand again. She smiled at him and shifted her position, turning toward the headboard and tucking an ankle under her knee. She reached out to pat his shoulder.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said. “I know it’s a little weird, hanging out with Ian and I all things considered, but I promise, you’re gonna be just fine.”

“Except for the whole limping my whole life and chronic pain thing.”

She nodded and pursed her lips, mostly to hide her smile. “Yeah. But you never know. Advances in the medical sciences might fix that.”

“I hope so. I _really_ don’t want this to go on forever.”

Jackie nodded. “I understand.” She pulled her other leg up, crossing her legs on the bed and settling in. “For now just hang tight alright? We’ve got this.”

“Yeah whatever.”

Jackie noted this, and stood up from the bed. “Do you need anything from downstairs? Food, water?”

“Is there pizza?”

“Shaw’s here, of course there’s pizza,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll nab you a slice.”

“Thanks.” She turned and started for the door. “Hey, Jackie?”

“Yeah?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry about the explosion.” Jackie merely nodded and walked out the door before he could say more. She knew he was just trying to say something like “I’m sorry I worried you,” but she could feel a little seed of doubt germinating in her mind. Riley after this accident would be irrevocably different from Riley before this accident, and she felt guilty, obligated, and uneasy all at once.


	98. 2015: Coming Together, Coming Undone

Ian surveyed the apartment Martin had been living in before his run-in with Verax and his life completely falling apart as a result of it. He bit his lip, knowing the polite thing to do was compliment the place but not being able to find a single thing to compliment.

“It looks like a fucking train wreck,” Shaw said, sparing him the awkwardness.

“I haven’t been able to do much to make it look nice,” Martin replied, shrugging. “I mean it’s serviceable, and besides I’m away most of the time with work. Or running from the law.”

“It’s not really the law if it’s corrupt,” Ian said to him, walking over to the sofa and catching a glimpse of the piano. “Is that yours?”

“Previous owners left it. I’ve been teaching myself to play.”

“I see.” Ian settled into the sofa and took in the front door. “Is it safe?”

“Reasonably so. I’ve gotten into the habit of dodging tails on the way home and triple checking the locks, and for bugs.” Ian nodded, pursing his lips a little, and Martin wandered over, sinking into the sofa next to him. “What’re we gonna do?”

“About Verax?”

“Yeah.”

“We took care of them, remember?”

“Actually no we didn’t. We won a battle in a war is what we did.”

“What do you mean?” Ian shifted to get a better look at him, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Senator Gorman and Conrad Tomlin aren’t sitting well with me, and I don’t know who else Verax owns. And Ensign…” Martin sighed, shaking his head a little. Ian watched him, narrowing his eyes in thought.

“We have the documents. We’ll comb through them over the next few weeks and formulate our next move.”

Martin considered him. “I can already tell you we have a lot of work ahead of us. We just freed the FBI, but Tomlin, Ensign, the Army…”

Ian grinned. “How I do love a challenge. My friend Ben does, too.” He laughed a bit. “The man stole the bloody Declaration of Independence.”

Martin looked at him, eyes wide. “You’re serious?”

“As a bullet to the head.”

“This Ben Gates sounds like a bold man. Why didn’t he take the fall for that?”

“Because I did. It’s rather a confusing arrangement but in the end it…all worked out.” Ian shrugged a little, not yet particularly keen on telling Martin his whole history with Ben Gates. Most of it took place while he was living his life in California working for the FBI and such, and while he had probably heard of the man, Ian guessed that all things considered, Gates was a blip on the radar for Martin. A famous individual certainly, but of little particular personal interest. He wondered if Martin had watched news coverage of his trial, and if so, he wondered what they thought of their resemblance.

“Well that’s good I suppose,” Martin said. He shifted a little on the sofa and exhaled.

“Feeling alright?”

“Not really.” Martin wasn’t about to tell Ian that he felt like he was in limbo after this kind of battle, even though he knew that Ian had his back. “It’s been a rough ride the past several weeks and now we’ve actually dome something substantial against Verax and I kind of feel like…”

“Drained?” Ian offered.

“Yeah.”

He nodded, pursing his lips a little. “I understand that. We just got out of something big today. We punched back against an organization that spent who knows how long getting away with whatever it wanted. That takes balls, bigger ones than most people possess.”

“We’ve got targets on our backs now,” Martin grumbled, looking off toward the wall and lightly stroking his lips.

“Yeah, well, that means we keep fighting.”

“Until what happens?”

“We win. Or we die.” Ian shrugged, though even he couldn’t deny that the possibilities were incredibly unnerving.

Martin looked at him, weighing his words. “You seem oddly calm about this whole thing,” he remarked.

“I’ve found it helps. Some of my guys can’t take stress very well, and things go wrong when they start panicking. Which is why I’m careful to the point of anal retentiveness about organizing jobs.” Martin nodded, as if to say, “I see”, and Ian looked at him. “Don’t worry, we’re still in this.”

Martin nodded. “Thanks, Ian.”

***

Riley sighed, taking a sip of coffee, rubbing his face, and scrolling leisurely through a PDF version of a section of the cache of documents they had just stolen. The sheer magnitude of what they had just done was finally getting to him. Millions of pages of records, billions of dollars in assets and cash, and a roll call of some of the most famous politicians he had ever heard of, and that was saying something. Secretary of State Conrad Tomlin was near the top of the list, with Senator Gorman and most of the Judiciary Committee. Everyone who ran Arcadia, several foreign princes, mostly Saudi. He was reminded of a story he read, a big headline maker about a conspiracy between the late Prince Abboud’s brother and Arcadia, which he could safely say was as good as a conspiracy with Verax itself.

He highlighted a few names and ran them through some basic searches, taking notes along the way about all the possible connections. There was a lot of oil interest involved, he could tell that immediately, but he also noticed something odd: there were clear, strong, heavy ties with a company known primarily as the ICA, which, after a bit of digging, he found meant ‘International Contract Agency’. “Charming,” he said to himself. There was no money exchanged directly between the two parties, but unnamed and non-valued “assets” seemed to pass freely, or at least early on this was the case.

Someone knocked on the door, and he jumped and slammed the laptop shut. He took a couple deep breaths to collect himself and then limped over to the door, easing it open a crack. A tall woman in a navy blue business suit stood in the hallway, watching him, her hands clasped over a slender black folder in front of her. “Who’re you?” Riley asked.

“My name is Diana Burnwood. I’ve come to negotiate,” the woman said.

“Negotiate what?”

“I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“That’s never good.”

“I can guarantee your protection.”

“Just stop poking around in your secrets, yeah, yeah I get it, I’ve heard it all before.” A million times, he was tempted to add. Carefully he undid the chain lock and opened the door a little further, leaning on the frame. “Listen, lady. People tried cutting deals with me before. You know who usually gets shafted? Me. Sometimes literally. So forgive me for being a little skeptical of your motivations.”

She narrowed her eyes a little as if studying him. “You’re being quite careful,” she noted. “I want to offer you a truce. You can imagine I don’t want you poking around in the annals of my employer’s network.”

“Verax?” Ms. Burnwood shook her head, and Riley knew what she meant. “They’re not who I’m after, anyway,” he said to her.

“Good.”

“I want you to keep it that way, and in exchange, I will provide for your protection against Verax, who I’m sure you’ve guessed will be preparing for a counterstrike.” Riley considered this. He knew she was right, and Verax would be coming for his head in one way or another in the near future. They’d be coming for all of them.

“What about the others?” he asked.

“O-others?” she asked, creasing her brow. “There were others?”

“Yeah. You think I do this shit because I want to?”

She watched him. “Wh-what do you…”

“I mean that I do this shit for a reason, that someone else gives me. It’s not just for fun.”

“So you have compatriots.” He nodded, lifting his eyebrows as if to say, “Yeah! No shit, Sherlock.” “Were they, perchance, the same people who hired Mr. Rieper and his sister?”

“If by that you mean baldie and the girl who could pose as his wife if she wanted to, yeah, probably.”

“You’ve seen him?”

Riley could now guess that was an unusual occurrence. He shook his head. “Just cut to it, OK? What do you really want?”

“An accord with you before you decide it’s expedient to turn your keyboard on my employers.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“A paycheck, perhaps?”

Damn, this woman was right. Riley would do most anything for a paycheck; it was why he’d signed on for the Templar Treasure hunt in the first place, and why he returned to treasure hunting when looking for Cibola. He even got to make the call on the finder’s fee on that one. The case with Verax was a little bit different. It was a blend of a personal vendetta, and the vendettas of people he was now personally connected to. “So you want to pay me to…what? To not hack you?” he challenged instead.

Ms. Burnwood considered him, and Riley felt himself settling onto his haunches. “No,” she said. “I want to come to an understanding.”

“Then understand this: You’re not who I’m after. Now can you relax?”

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before looking at him. “You are willing to give me this assurance wholeheartedly?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all I need.”

“Thank you,” Riley said, and he turned and closed the door. _Well_ , he thought, _some people certainly have things to hide._


	99. 2015: Liminal Space

“Any news?” the driver asked as Diana returned to her car and settled into the back seat, closing the door behind her.

“He won’t talk, not to me and I presume not to anyone else we send after him,” she replied. “Unless…”

“Unless what, ma’am?”

“Just a thought I had. I’ll make note of it and see where it leads. Don’t trouble yourself with it.” She shook her head a little and turned to her phone, already setting up a link to 47.

***

47 hummed softly to himself and looked at his phone, seeing an incoming call from Diana. For a moment he debated answering, before he tapped the screen and said, “Hello?”

“47,” she said. “I need your help with something.”

“Am I getting paid or do you expect me to do this for free?” Katia glanced up at him from her place on the armchair next to the sofa. He looked at her in response.

“What are you talking about? You still—”

“I took the job because I knew it was from a man I trusted, and I watched the consequences unfold right before my eyes. Now, while you still have my trust, I recommend you tell me what this is about and either pay me, or find someone else.”

He heard Diana sigh. “I need you to keep track of Riley Poole.”

“He’s not a threat.”

“That’s what he said.”

“You don’t believe him.”

“All things considered, no, I don’t.”

47 pursed his lips a little. “He has no reason to interfere with your interests or mine. You know this. He has very specific targets, and he goes after them, as I do. Mr. Poole is to be left in peace, and I suggest you take the night off, have a nice glass of wine and try to relax.”

Diana paused, stammering a couple times before conceding. “Alright, 47.” He hung up before she tried to talk to him about anything else, and set the phone on the coffee table.

“What was that about?” Katia asked.

“Between your father and Vladislav, I’ve become…uncertain.”

“Is it my fault?”

“Who says there’s fault to begin with?”

She drew back a little, somewhat dumbfounded that he was this philosophical, and his question was so unexpected she really didn’t know how to answer. He simply nodded a little and straightened in the sofa, leaning back. Katia glanced at the coffee table, where his knives and a whetstone sat, neatly arranged along with a few other pieces from his briefcase that he had been cleaning up before he received the call. “I remember you said that I’m free now, and indicated that you were not so. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you not free if I am?”

“I have never been free, Katia. My life has been controlled first by the program and then by the Agency.”

“So what’s stopping you from being free now? You can decide, right now, to disappear and never look back.”

“What would I do, Katia?”

Shit, that was a good point. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

He considered her for a moment, and then he returned to his weapons, resuming cleaning one of his knives as if nothing had happened.

***

In the adjoining hotel room, Jackie, Powell, Victor, and Phil had just finished up listening to what Riley had to say. “Sounds like good timing,” Powell finally said. “Too good.”

“I checked this place for bugs but there aren’t any,” Phil said.

“The bug isn’t in the room,” Riley replied. “It’s an electronic bug, one that tracks the movements of Verax documents, I think.”

“Why do these people want to track Verax documents?” Victor asked.

Jackie shrugged. “My guess would be to make sure they hold to the terms of whatever arrangement they had. It’s like asking why would the US keep track of foreign governments who are allies? Same principle. Make sure they don’t move against your interests. It’s crooked and nasty, but it’s a fact of life.”

“So…what do we do?” Phil asked, looking briefly at everyone else in the room.

“Riley, how about you put perusing those documents on hold until we find out what kind of bug this is and disarm it. We don’t need any eyes in the sky for this, digital or otherwise.”

“OK,” Riley said, nodding.

Jackie looked at the others. “How about you guys stay with Ian? I’ll place a few calls to some people I know just in case. We have to really double down here, or we’ll get caught off-guard and obliterated.”

“Sounds good,” Powell said, grunting and standing, moving to the door. Victor followed, but Phil stuck around.

“I’m freaked out,” he admitted to Jackie. “This is…huge. I’m scared.”

She leaned forward, looking him in the eye. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ve got this. We have the numbers, we have the right people. And besides, once this is all over, everything’s gonna be fine. Nothing to worry about, at least from them. OK?”

He nodded. “OK.”

“Stay in touch, Philly-boy.”

He smirked, clapping her on the shoulder as he stood and moved to the door. “Philly-boy?” Riley asked after he left.

“He and I were the runts in Ian’s crew,” Jackie said to him. “Even though I’ve been learning the ropes longer than he has we both bonded over being the youngest.”

“OK, I get it.” He limped over to the sofa and sank into the seat next to her. After a moment he leaned on her shoulder, and she leaned back.


	100. Postlude: Part 1: 2007: Flight to Marseilles

Jackie took a deep breath and knocked on the door to Ian’s office. He was just settling in, she knew, and she didn’t really want to interrupt. But she heard him inside, responding to her knock with, “Come in!” She opened the door and stepped inside. “Jackie?” he asked, creasing his eyebrows together and tilting his head a little. He sat in the plush leather chair, his ankle draped over his knee and his hands loosely clasped in front of him. “You didn’t have to knock.”

“Sorry, I’m just nervous,” she admitted, looking away from him for a moment and moving to one of the two chairs opposite the desk from him.

“What’s on your mind?”

She sighed and sank into the seat. “It’s about Riley.”

“Oh?”

“With the accident, I feel like…I don’t know…I’m starting to wonder if…would I really want to be with Riley without the accident? And now that he had the accident…would I want to be with him?”

“I don’t follow.”

She swallowed. “I think because of the accident I’m…I feel somewhat obligated to stay here, and try to be with him, which would’ve worked naturally without the accident but since it happened and I feel guilty and responsible…I feel like I’m required to stay here.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t.” She looked at him, cocking her head and folding her brow. “I’ll talk to Riley if you want me to. Go to Marseilles for a bit, think things over. Come back when you’re ready. It’ll be alright, there’s no shame in thinking about this and making your own decision.”

Jackie sighed, nodding and whispering, “OK.” And she took another deep breath. “I hope he doesn’t think less of me for this.”

“He won’t. My concern is he would think less of himself.”

“Make sure he doesn’t?”

“I’ll do my best.”

She nodded and stood. “Thanks, cuz,” she said, and he stood, meeting her around the desk and giving her a firm hug, patting her on the back.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

He released her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll call ahead for you, alright?”

“OK. Thanks. I’ll see what I can do about a flight, and…” She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but that was the point, she supposed. She smiled to Ian and walked quietly out of his office.

***

Nicole Howe was a cutting presence, her Louboutin heels clacking across the fine marble floor of her chateau. Jackie couldn’t help but scan her as she approached, taking in her cousin’s black sleeveless blouse with angles in the collar and the waistline, creating an asymmetric flair look over a soft beige pencil skirt. Her thick brown waves draped over her shoulder, and she smiled and reached out to hug Jackie. Jackie couldn’t help but hug back, still somewhat dumbfounded. “Good to see you, finally,” she said, stepping back and laying her hands on her shoulders to look at her. “What brings you here?”

Jackie glanced at the edge of the room, where the lithe, faerie-like figure of Elena, dressed considerably more casually and sporting short, pixie cut blond hair, leaned against the doorway and smiled. When she looked back at Nicole, she said, “I met someone, and he got into a bad accident. He’s got two pinched nerves, so I guess you could say that’s lucky, but I’m…conflicted about the whole thing. Ian told me I should stay here until I figure things out.”

“Oh, well, Ian didn’t tell me all this. He really should gossip more.” She laughed a bit. “Well come in, come in. Let’s get you settled in, and tell me more about this predicament of yours.”


	101. Postlude: Part 2: 2015: Settling In

Katia looked around at Martin’s shabby apartment, and immediately she said, “You need a new paint job, and a fresh floor. I like the doors that close off the bedroom, though. Except I’d pick a separate style, I think?”

He stopped from his general walking around the place, somewhat aimlessly as if in search of something and not sure where it was, and he turned to look at her. “That’s…actually a good idea,” he said. “I mean I’m supposed to be on sabbatical and I need something to occupy my mind with while things settle down…um…do you wanna…help me?”

Katia smiled a little. “I wouldn’t mind it,” she said. “See I need something new to do, too, if only for a little while. I’ve even got a few ideas. If you don’t mind.”

He shrugged. “By all means.”

She scanned the apartment again. “I was thinking a few shades of green for the walls, perhaps a forest green main shade, and certainly a new, solid hardwood floor. Oak perhaps? I’ll have to see what can be done about the doors to the bedroom, though I do think the general concept is good.

“Alright, that’s a start,” he said. “And while we’re thinking about it maybe we can fix up the piano, too.” She followed him into the room where it was kept, and she reached out to play a few keys before nodding in agreement.

“It needs tuning, for one.”

“Really? I…never noticed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Someone opened and closed the door, and they both looked up and walked into the living room. Ian and the rest of his crew looked at them. “Katia,” Ian said, nodding politely.

“I just thought I’d drop by and see how he’s doing. We were talking a little about how to fix up this place.”

Ian nodded. “I see. Any good ideas?”

“A fresh coat of paint,” Martin volunteered, “a new floor. That’s just the start.” He shrugged a bit, pursing his lips.

“Can we help?” Victor asked.

Ian glanced over his shoulder at him and then smiled a little at Martin and Katia. “That’s a great idea. If…you’ll have us.”

“This train wreck?” Katia asked, smirking. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Hey!” Martin exclaimed with mock offense. “It’s not that bad!”

“The paint’s falling off the walls. By the looks of things has been for some time,” Katia protested, eliciting a laugh from Ian.

“OK maybe it is pretty bad,” Martin conceded. “But I promise it’s not horrendous.”

“I agree it has its own aesthetic, but it really does need to be cleaned up a little bit. We’ll take before and after pictures if you insist,” Ian replied jocularly.

Martin merely laughed and clapped Ian on the shoulder in response. “We can if you want. Wouldn’t hurt much.”

Katia smiled. “When do you guys wanna start?” she asked.


End file.
